Life before Sarah?
by Nonsuch
Summary: Jareth did not have a happy life before Sarah, no, his life mainly consisted of listening to his psycotic horse loving cousin and trying to deal with the total and utter illiteracy of his subjects. But then Sarah came... FINAL CHAPTER UP! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

When Jareth was born, the powers that be must of had great fun with him, as they tended to see 'interesting cases' as being akin to particularly challenging recipes in Delia Smith cooking books. A tragic romance there, a fatal passion here, a dab of melancholy, and just a slight whiff of possessiveness, and then there you have it, a bona-fide Jareth. All in a days work for a supernatural deity who has to deal with cases that went into the filing cabinet under the label of 'tragic and somewhat depressing, possibly evil???'

Jareth was born, youngest son of Wurbler the Unworthy, Lord of the outer reaches, the Goblin realm, Overseer of the Dukedum of the Bogland Marsh, etc. etc. and he thought he'd got it made. Youngest sons are rarely expected to do anything in royalty, their lives mainly involve being conscripted into some form of military training, where everyone cowers to them and the resulting effect is that a job in the military involves having a 'jolly good time!' then there's the mistresses. It's an unwritten law that all younger princes are expected to take on mistresses, usually around half a dozen until they reach the grand old age of 35 and are expected to create a kind of back up force of legitimate offspring unless the rest of the royal family are killed by small pox or some other such horrendous disease.

Jareth had an older brother, and twelve sisters, and his father had yet to clock up a few millennia of reign before he became _post life _(so to speak) so Jareth's future seemed pretty sound. Until the great plague of the year 7,789,689 that is.

The first to go was roughly half the populace of the goblin city, from where the plauge was believed to of originated from a atrociously disgusting hankie dropped by Flage, the goblin street cleaner. The royalty and nobility all stayed barricaded in their looming gloomy turrets and towers, taking an excess of snuff and adding an extra application of ground peacock skull to prevent one's flesh from becoming an unbecoming shade of violet. Except Jareth that is, who was currently on a (Prolonged) tour of his cousin Sophia's 'land where people like horses very much,' simply because everyone was at a loss for what to do with him, and if left unoccupied for more than 5 hours he would begin to write and sometimes recite poetry, which of course, would never do at all, as Jareth's rhyming scheme at the age of two thousand three hundred and forty-seven had failed to progress beyond 'cat' and 'mat.'

Cousin Sophia, whilst jolly and almost achingly happy, had a fixation with horses. A very serious fixation with horses. She had ordered all the paintings of the great goblin masters, Dashe and Ranbe Dofur, to be taken down and thrown into the stables whilst her own works, of a 'fine stallion rearing in the sun', of 'a mare with two foals in a grassy meadow' and 'horses that look like unicorns but it's only a trick of the light.' She also introduced a law that resulted in members of the cabinet bringing their horses along to meetings, and events of state (galas and charity events, you know the like), as you can imagine this led to a great deal of confusion.

Jareth meanwhile, whilst constantly being badgered by Sophia to take up Stablery as a hobby, had other things on his mind, being blissfully unaware of events at home (telecommunications were non-existent) had found another interest - spying. Whilst wandering aimlessly around the west wing of Sophia's luxuriant winter palace (most of the rooms were equipt with hay instead of bare flagstones, incredible!) he had came upon a mad old pixie - or what might be better described as a mad and extremely high pixie as he was constantly giggling uncontrollably in between drafts of a from of prehistoric LSD.

"What do you seek my son..." meaningful pause, a sigh reeking of several centuries of solvent abuse made a pleasant entrance in Jareth's nose.

"Nothing you hideous old bat, who on earth do YOU happen to be?"

"I'm daddy o cool, my son, come take a seat next to me," he stroked what appeared to be a moth eaten cushion that lay limply besides him.

"No you disgusting old goat, do something interesting or I'm likely to kick you with my brand spanking new riding boots," Jareth tensed his toes eagerly, he's been waiting for an opportunity to test them out...

"Do something you say?" He took another puff that wafted unpleasantly around Jareth's carefully arranged hair, hair arranged in such a way that it looked incredibly untidy.

"How about this for something!" He fumbled in his trenchcoat pocket and drew out a sphere, it glittered and shone, the Labyrinth had no mirrors, the closest you got to seeing your reflection was in the bog of eternal stench on a clear day. He spun it around in his hands for several minutes, occasionally rolling it around his back, for show, until Jareth got to the stage of offering money for the possession of it.

"Now yer talking me son!" His eyes glittered, "gimme! gimme! gimme!" Jareth dropped his purse in the old man's hand, who eagerly seized it, he happily trundled away, leaving Jareth with a very pretty ball that appeared to have no pratcical use whatsoever. However it was a pretty bauble, and it delighted him, so it went into his coat pocket along with various other shiny pieces of paraphenelia picked up throughout his life.

It was the day after this...event...that Jareth received a letter, from the Goblin Prime Minister, Jareth knew it was from that particular odious little creep because of the green slime that had apparently been used to seal the envelope.

Although Jareth struggled with the hideous spelling errors and the constant mise-use of words, he read as follows:

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Deer , King Jereth Lard of the outer reaches, the Goblin relm, Overseer of the Dukedum of the Bogland Marsh, etc. etc

As yu may of herd a gret crises has befellen the Gublin City. Luts of peple died. Yur furver, bruver and sevan unmorried sesters are dead. Sorry about that.

Yu ar now king, and it wud be very nice if u cum back to rul us. Please.

All my luv.

Roem Baaba, priministir

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This was the first time Jareth had experienced grief. The first time he had experienced guilt. And the first time he had experienced such atrocious spelling.

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So that's the first chapter, I hope you enjoyed it, reviews would be great if you have the time! I was inspired after receiving the 20th anniversary edition of Goblins of the Labyrinth, and some of the Goblin names used here are taken directly from the book.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing apart from the idea for this story and the text that has made an appearance, the rest belongs to the Henson company, or is it George Lucas...?


	2. Chapter 2

Jareth sat atop a ridiculously large throne, he felt dwarfed by it, quite literally, as it was 15 feet high. He was not in a particularly good mood, as, according to Goblin tradition, his father had just been buried before his coronation ceremony, and part of the process had been for the Goblins to perform a ceremony atop the coffin, which involved whacking each other on the head, until at least one of them became unconscious.

The royal family where sat high on a dais, with Jareth on a kind of mini-dais on top of the main dais, quite simply to make him look impressive. The ceremony was 15 hours long and involved him meeting delegates from the various provinces of the kingdom and kicking them (with his brand new riding boots) off the dais down a 20 feet drop, this was generally anticipated as the most enjoyable part of the ceremony by the general Goblin population. At the end of it, Jareth was extremely tired and after a further 6 hours of banqueting and people in general sucking up to him as the all powerful leader of the Goblin state - he retired to bed.

He thought a while, about many things, about what his father had done, what he would do and more importantly why they did it. It was at this point that seemingly endless hours of tutors desperately shaking him in an effort to try and MAKE HIM UNDERSTAND seemed to gain some use, he remembered the story of how his descendants had first gained the throne...

Once upon a time there lived a young fae, who's hearts desire had been to have a kingdom of his own, not be ruled over by some sparkly faery tart who spent all her time lounging beds of flowers worrying whether her hair looked any good for her latest apparition to pair of doomed lovers number 457. And so he began a quest, to find a land which had no apparent leader or an incredibly weak one who he could overthrow with the minimum of hassle. And so he discovered the Goblin Kingdom, it was really a rancid stinking hovel of a place, but it was better than nothing, and it had a castle, that with several hundred years work may be passable to some kind of delegation as being the home of some monarch of very little importance on the larger scale of things. And so, he'd been recognised formally as a leader and was very happy lounging on his throne and getting a annual income for being a self-appointed royal.

So, to put it simply, Jareth was only Goblin King because his ancestor happened to be particularly power hungry, lazy and aside from living in a castle had no ambition whatsoever. Which gave him a good start in effect, he had very little to live up to in lieu of family history.

Jareth woke up. It was a bright sunny morning. The birds were singing, the sound of Goblins shooting at the birds reverberated reassuringly through the castle. His first day as Goblin King, he decided needed to be remarkable and forceful, so when he got to HIS throne room, he got quite a shock. His prime-minsister was there, carefully arranging a bevy of foreign beauties in a line, all of whom were gabbling to each other, quick and sharp like sparrows, he didn't notice Jareth's presence until Jareth shouted:

"What in HELL is going on!"

"Oh, just sorting out your bride your serenity..." he muttered absent-mindedly, gazing at the vision of the parade of pouting princesses lined up before him.

"MY WHAT!!!!!!!!!"

What followed was not pleasant but it involved several of the princesses getting their ankles sprained, which, as the (new) prime-minister would later comment, was not very good for foreign relations. Jareth spent most of his tirade rattling the prime-minister and giving him a long lecture on how, when _he_ wanted to get married, he'd go out, find a girl, and marry her. Simple. It was demeaning for a prime-minister to even attempt such a thing, and so the prime-minister was consequently sentenced to death by bog, not a particularly pleasant sentence, I can tell you...

The years that followed Jareth really made his own, quite literally, he sacked all his court, he found them all depressing and his job even more so. I mean, kidnapping babies? It wasn't really what he had envisioned as a future career, but the stupid fools of humans kept on wishing their babes away, he would confront them with the laws etc. etc. give them 13 hours, go and sit in his throne room, get bored, then confront them AGAIN at the end of the 13 hours with the choice - _you_ stay and get turned into a Goblin, or the child does, as you can imagine the former option was not incredibly popular, in fact nobody had ever taken it.

This meant human-kind connoted selfishness and other such negatives to Jareth. It wasn't that he set out to hold them in utter disdain, it was just that those who ventured into the Labyrinth were far too often from the shadowy depths of humanity – nasty, spineless people who would trade their own grand-mother for a flashy car.

But then, a few millennia into Jareth's reign, everything slowed down, a wished away child became increasingly sporadic, and in fact each case became increasingly interesting, as even a baby's wails are better than the puerile nonsense Goblins spout. Each time he the contenders grew more intriguing, with their tales to tell of the latest innovations in the human world, the latest fashion, the latest fancies, though they were still all the same at the heart of it all, selfish and hard, even if the mask changed the soul beneath remained grotesquely consistent.

But then Sarah came. And changed everything...

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Reviewers

Danika – Thank you very much for your review, I've taken your comments into account and proof read it so hopefully it should make more sense now. Hope you (and everyone else for that matter) enjoy the latest chapter!

Please leave reviews, they help me improve!


	3. Chapter 3

Sarah, alternately known as the girl in the crystal, trouser-girl and various other names by which Jareth referred to her in his (gradually improving) poetry. He had first seen her when she was around thirteen (though of course such numbers meant nothing to a Fae, how is thirteen any measure of time when you happen to be in your seventh millennia of being?), she had been crying. She'd collapsed over the bridge and had just cried relentlessly, on and on. It took great force of will to stop him shattering the image into a thousand pieces, it had upset him you know, which was odd because that it something that shouldn't happen to fae. They inhabit a bizarre world brimming over with the most powerful and vapid of emotions, lust and fury, you know the type. It had to be something special to stimulate the subtler reaches of emotion, that was why she was so intriguing.

She was very young, he could see that, and bizarrely dressed in some kind of blue pantaloons (most odd for a girl, for Jareth had previously been unaware that the female of the species actually had legs) a new fashion he had assumed with a shrug. He'd always got the same view, of the park, he'd seen it over an impossibly lengthy stretch of time, he's seen the ladies with the bizarre neck braces, the men in their tights (a fashion he had taken a particular interest in), the loose shirts, the corsetry, the girls with boys hair, and the women (and possibly men) who'd plaited their hair with wild flowers and gazed glassily around the scenery lacking all sense of purpose. Something_ this_ girl most clearly had. She had an...interesting face...when in fury, or despair, or whatever the humans call it. She had spoken, spoken to nothing but the air around her, probably her reason taken in the red eyed anger that possessed her, though he could not hear the words because the crystal only gave an image, their meaning and intention was all too clear.

She'd ran off then, still with the tears flowing, still with his interest awakened. He spent several days staring listlessly into the thing, waiting for her image to appear before him – on the third day, he decided there were probably matters of state to deal with and took it upon himself to locate his ministers, all of whom he found shuffling about outside his chambers.

"Yes, well what do you want?" he prided himself in his ability to be rude and arrogant to his ministers, without exceptions.

"The king of Privaya...has sent...emissaries," one poor soul gulped with stuttered speech, putting off the inevitable until Jareth began voicing his rapidly escalating impatience.

"To discuss marriage with his daughter!" The last words were more a high pitch squeal than comprehensible speech.

"Remember prime-minister Rumpul, Tomkins," he was tapping his left foot. A bad omen.

"I'm sorry sire, he said it was a matter of great multi-national importance! Well sire, your answer...?" The goblin got uncomfortably close to Jareth's proximity, eyes widening with hope, resulting in a kick from the boots.

"You can tell the King of Privet or whatever it is his daughter has the general disposition of a constipated frog and he must be delusional for any thought of marrying her off to me."

"That may need re-wording slightly sire..." mumbled the fortunate Tompkins, as the order for his execution had not yet been passed.

"Yes, yes go and do that Tomkitten," after he scuttled away, Jareth surveyed the gaggle of learned (well, by Goblin standards) Goblins before picking out a particularly awed looking toad at the back of the cluster, "you, are you known as?"

"Scuttle sire, oh glorious Jareth of the extended dominion of..." before the creature could rattle off the whole list of his titles, Jareth interrupted.

"Yes alright, alright Muddle, no need for formalities, I need you to find me," a carefully timed pause for effect, "a magician," he smiled barbarically as the room gave a collective shudder for the mention. A wizard had been admitted into the castle once, and enchanted the castle so that every single Goblin in the place had an obsessive compulsive cleaning disorder, every minute of the day was spent fighting your brother for a snatch of his soap, or your sister for a blissful session with her (rather redundant, considering Goblins are without exception, bald) hairbrush. The reason for this was genrally thought to be that the magician had been so disgusted by the depravity and filthiness of the populace, he saw the need to take action.

"That may be, difficult, sire, considering your father banished all Magicians and issued a decree stating any magician to enter the Goblin kingdom – faced a penalty of death." He smiled hopefully up at him. Little Scuttlehad only recently been employed, having been found to be capable of reciting (well the first half of) the Goblinian alphabet, and knew little of Jareth or his ways.

"Well, I would like for you to issue a new decree, any magician to come here, will be rewarded, with a gold purse, enough funds to live off comfortably for a long, long life." He drew Scuttle close and bared his teeth, "I doubt you've never heard of such an astronomical sum before have you now Scuttle?"

"No sire, my father, may he rest eternally in the big bog in the sky (he added reverently), worked in the dungeons, professional prisoner he was, sat in the cell, moaned, rattled his chains, kept the general doom and gloom atmosphere going I'm sure you know what I mean sire? And he was paid two vats of mud a week – quite generous pay I believe Sire."

"Yes, yes Puddle, very nice, go and issue the decree will you there's a good chap."

"Sire, if you don't mind me asking, what do you need a magician for, it may help...dissuade, some of the more, malovelantly intended magically inspired persons?" Even youthful Scuttle, a mere century old, had horrific memories of the time of the lime soap.

"A good question Scuttle, yes a good question!" He slapped him on the back, knocking the puny sized advisor onto the hay strewn floor. "That is a rare thing in my kingdom, is it not you miserable dolts?" There was a frenzied nodding of heads. "I want a magician," he smiled again, his smile was well used to intimidate, "to get me aboveground."

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Mistress Eden - Thankyou very much for your review, I'm glad you're enjoying the story and hope you enjoy this (belated!) chapter.

To everyone, I'm sorry it has taken so long to update, I began a piece of original fiction after this, and got kind of preoccupied with that, it is very long, 10 000 words right now, so you can probably tell why it took so long! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I will hopefully be updating more reguarlly now.


	4. Chapter 4

And so the quest for persons of magical talent commenced. Jareth retired to his chambers after initiating the search, obsessively fixated to the alien crystal. Most Goblins at court believed the trinket was a wicked evil sent by the devils of cleanliness to entice Good King Jareth (court, despite bearing the force of the great majority of Jareth's spells of fury, still somehow managed to retain rather...romanticised...notions of his character) into welcoming the scourge of Wizardry back into the bosom of the kingdom.

Despite a general air of superstition, the search was initiated by the newly promoted Vice Chancellor Scuttle, whose initiation had been a popular event in the Goblinian social calender, with his entire clan (known colloquially as the 'banged up Bill' clan) present to witness the ceremonial kick from the riding boot and the 'mud in the face' tradition that dated back to the time of the incontinent Badger – a truly ancient tradition.

The first technique used was large (many were mistaken for wallpaper) posters, and at first this proved to be largely ineffectual, mainly due to the fact that the (very few, largely insane) magicians who had inhabited the city, had long since been sentenced to death by Bog, or if extremely fortunate (and wealthy) exiled to the neighbouring realms. And none since had been plain idiotic enough to come within visual range of the Goblin Kingdom. The campaign wasn't assisted by the fact that 'Magician' had been spelt 'Maprattchann,' and it was probably for this reason, that even when Scuttle was shaken by Jareth for long enough (it was said that Scuttle spent around two hours with his neck in the glorious gloved grip of the exalted one) and proceeded to plaster posters on the walls of the mud-huts of the inhabitants of the outer-reaches of the neighbouring dwarf kingdom, there was still no response to the plea (excepting the incident when Scuttle was used as the target for a game of darts in the local Dwarf tavern, another story for another time.)

And it was at this point that Jareth decided to take matters into his own hands. Leaving the tattered reigns of control of the city to the almost totally incompetent Prime Minister Tomkins. His reaction to power was initially extreme nervousness (excessive pacing, muttering etc. etc.) and after that seven hours banging his head against a granite wall, in the out-dated Goblinian belief that this ridded the spirit of evil and enterpenurial thinking, replacing it with simple minded obedience (an impossibility as it has since been proven that enterpenurial thought is a scientific impossibility in Goblins.)

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Jareth rode for seven days and seven nights to reach the kingdom of his cousin Sophia, she had gotten married, the previous winter, to a stable-boy who had been attending to her favourite Black Stallion, Rufus. Rufus had been the best man (despite extended protests from the Holy Council of the Kingdom.) Jareth himself had been unable to attend due to a broken foot after the case of initiating a particularly...well-built Goblin minister. He still had the crystal safely cushioned in a pouch inside his saddle bag, the warm spherical shape of it against his legs reassured him of it's presence. For the crystal was very dear to him now, dearer than any object ever had been.

Upon reaching the kingdom, there was much neighing and cantering from the four-legged members of the community. Sophia's intricate network of gossips had informed her of the King's coming, and she had ensured he had a characteristically horsey welcome.

"You don't do things my halves do you dear cousin?" Jareth asked his cousin, surveying the sight of uniform rows of horses, each wrapped in a horse rug bearing his image. The hills beyond were obscured by the chestnut sheen of horses neighing and occasionally bucking their riders – much to Sophia's amusement, despite the riders often sustaining extremely serious bodily harm.

"Well one is royal Jareth, so why not go for the whole horse bag?" She laughed with an innate peal that his ears had long since learned how to block from recognition "well, you must meet Terence, he's in the stable, sorry I mean throne room! I am silly, aren't ?." She cackled once again for good measure as a distant Jareth took her arm and both entered her palace through doors carved with excessive equestrian imagery.

Terence proved to be amiable enough, although totally ignorant and passive, he also said Ohh Arr at frequent intervals. Luckily (and most important of all) he seemed to lack enough brain cells to pose any threat to government, in fact he wouldn't of been out of place among the inhabitants of the Goblin city, his stupidity was that extreme. So after their initial meeting, Jareth totally disregarded his presence, ignoring him to discuss arrangements with Sophia over how to snare a Wizard.

"How about a competition Jareth?" Suggested Sophia, clapping her hands excitedly, whinnying madly at the prospect, "I haven't had a competition, bazaar or carnival in decades! Oh it will be so much fun, there can be jesters, clowns, fire-eaters..." She began to get_ slightly_ carried away...

"Let's not forget the magicians shall we?" Jareth had began to get impatient, and not only with the present conversation. His growing frustration was exhibited through the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the arm of his chair. He had seen the girl again the night before. His heart had leapt with the elation of the sight of her. She was slightly older now, and she looked to be in high spirits, she was joyfully running to keep pace with a four legged creature than appeared to be entirely consumed by hair. She threw sticks at it, and exhibited great joy whenever the creatures brought back one of the sticks, despite the slobber and the bite-marks. For the first and last time in his extremely lengthy lifespan- Jareth wished to be that creature more than he wanted anything else in the world.

And so the next day, the posters were distributed – real posters this time, posters that managed a passable spelling of 'magician,' here is an example of one of the most widely distributed advertisements:

MAGEECANS!!!

Do you wish to get a lot OF MOANEY!!!!!

Do you weesh to be under the service of a KINNG!!!!!!!

Then come: to the SPECAL, HIPER, AMIZING WISARDVRY COMPETITION!

Next Half Moon in the City Square!

The word soon spread, and persons of varying degrees of magical talent soon began flocking to the city, for more than anything else in the world, magicians valued money in the highest regard, despite the spelling. This was all much to the annoyance of Sophia however, who felt they were compromising the living standards of the cities horse-population.

Jareth settled that night into a happy contented sleep. The next day, he would find the magician who would take him aboveground. The magician who would take him to see Sarah.

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REVIEWERS

notwritten - I am glad you're enjoying it, I hope you like this chapter!

DanikaLareyna – Thank-you very much for continuing to review the story, and your right about the legs comments, I really need a beta, they'd point out those kind of continuity errors to me (the scourge of continuity is like an ever looming shadow for me ;).) Do you know how I'd go about getting one? If anyone wants to be my beta, just send me your e-mail, I'd be very grateful! I'm glad you like the story, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thesta - Here's the update, I'm glad your enjoying it, I've tried to make it just about as different from all the generic J+S fics out there as I could - I find it fun to write about the Goblins themselves!

Please review, all reviews are greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

The day of the competition dawned bright and clear. Not a cloud in the sky, the birds were singing merrily, and Jareth was shouting at them to quieten down. He'd dreamed of the girl last night, and he wished for no birdsong to disturb his musings. He rarely dreamt, he had not the time nor the extent of imagination to create dreams, but this dream was wonderful, it was the kind of dream you hope never to wake from. Sarah had been with him, in a green expanse, he could not tell in his world or hers. But so close! They were within touching distance, yet the girl hardly seemed aware of him. No till the end, when she reached out with her fingers toward him, and then all there was was the sudden clumsy beating of hard heavy wings...

Preparations had been going on for the whole week previous, the dais had to be specially commissioned to support the rather substantial weight of Rufus, as well as the horses accompanying the assorted courtiers who would be accompanying the Royal family on the occasion. Booths and tents were established everywhere. And my, what abodes these magicians could conjure! Jareth spent the morn surveying the area, noting with interest how one magician had ownership of a tent that contained not only a spacious 14 bedroomed mansion, but also 15 acres of land (with accompanying scenic views) complete with stables. Another magician, who happened to be but a foot high, appeared to inhabit a ridiculously sized tent – it took up half a grazing field, was level with the highest towers in Sophia's castle and looked more akin to a Circus's big top than a traveller's home. When commanded to explain his reasoning, the man explained:

"Why but my good sir, I believe in occupying a residence that reflects my true standing in the wizarding community." At this Jareth and his entourage erupted into hysterical laughter, before cantering off to explore further. The little man stared after them awhile, musing as to the cause of the laughter, before shrugging his shoulders and entering into his tent, to prepare for the day ahead.

And so it began, the royal family were sat atop the raised dais, with Sophia clapping her hands and cheering with great enthusiasm, as Jareth sat in the next throne, legs flung over the arm of the chair, eyes locked intently on the crystal before him. As was usual with these occasions a comical herald emerged from the castle's side entrance, ineffectually screaming shrilly into the trumpet, meeting mutual gales of laughter, laughter only broken by Jareth's insistence that the proceedings should speeden.

The first magician to appear looked more akin to a children's entertainer. Or more accurately, he appeared to be a magician who had learnt all he knew from the child's book of elementary spells. For example, he was draped from head to foot in twilight blue robes, embroidered with stars and moons, many of which were hanging by a single thread. His tricks consisted of the usual party favours, a biting fairy from a hat, slicing a Goblin maiden (though it is hard to tell) in two and the well loved – pulling a particularly small and stinky Goblin from his trousers – yes, most mediocre magicians enjoyed pulling nasty, stinky Goblins from their – let's not go there, it's too disgusting. The following magicians, of whom there were around seven in number, performed similar rudimentary tricks and favours, clearly blind to the true purpose of the event.

Sophia, in characteristic hilarity loved them all, she snorted and rolled about convulsing with laughter, Jareth's face remained stony. There was no time more such diversions, he had take matters into his own control. He stood, specially commissioned cloak rippling with cinematic effects in the wind.

"Any other 'magician' to perform so miserably will face my wrath, this is no game I will have you understand. This is not for fun or your enjoyment. This event is endowed with purpose, and my time is short, so if there are any true magicians remaining, perform – but the fakers, narcissists and the unskilled had best leave now. Lest they face my wrath" He resumed his seat. The field was stricken by silence, all gaiety dissipated, and was replaced with frantic whispers and shadows of converse.

"You planned that didn't you Jareth? Why must you always steal my fun?" She was glaring at him, a true sign of warning, for Sophia to be in anything other than good humour was extremely rare.

"Because it is not your fun cousin, it is mine, if anyone's." Both spoke in muted whispers as the frantic crowds below made their choices, hurrying about like ants on a plain.

"You appear to be forgetting whose kingdom the event is occurring in Jareth," she looked at him questing for a response, but found none, so continued, "you are obsessing now Jareth. It is not healthy for you. This girl whoever she is, could be anyone, witch, harpy, human, you don't even know if she's _real_. You have no knowledge of the origin of the crystal, it may be some kind of elaborate trickery for all you know."

"It is not!" His voice was a sharp hiss, "we talk no more of the matter now. Be it ordained that I find my magician or not, I leave by dawn. You will no longer need to bear my sight."

Silence reigned supreme between both for the rest of the day.

Few magicians remained after Jareth's tirade, most were reminded with horrifying intensity of the purges of magicians carried out under the reign of his father, and most were wise enough to leave with startling immediacy. Those left were largely insane (as were many a magician), others were bestowed with a foolish measure of self confidence. But one was left who had true power, and the tragedy was his proximity – he lived in the castle, as he always had done.

But this magician was old, an old, old man by now, deaf and blind, still perfectly capable of extraordinary fetes of magic in mind but too frail to move a step, lost in a dream scape from which no man could summon him. This man was Sophia's grand father, who had long since been locked in a tower and forgotten about by all, the reason for his imprisonment was long lost to the passage of time. He had made crystals, beautiful things, gave one to a boy once, spiky hair, wore tights, that was in his 'young days' (comparatively speaking), the days of hard drugs and heavy metal. Too old and feeble to move now, attended on only by an ancient man-servant and cook's boy. It was the night that true magic was needed – that he died.

A competent magician was found, he showed talent in the form of transfiguration, the purpose for which Jareth requited him. Jareth kept his promise, he left that dawn, never even pausing to say goodbye.

Sophia watched him leave from her window and muttered to herself as his image was obscured by the brilliance of the rising sun, "what on earth will become of my poor lost Jareth?" With that, she retreated with tears forming to her bed.

She would not see him again, not for a long, long time.

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Once again, thankyou lovely reviewers, here's my replies to you all!

**Inulvr7** I'm glad you like it, hope you like this chapter as well, things are getting abit more serious now, but I have still tried to be funny ;). As for Goblins of the Labyrinth, it was written by Brian Froud and Terry Jones, it's really great, and if you live in the USA or UK you should be able to get it easily either from Amazon or a local bookstore ;).

**Notwritten** I'm glad you're still reading, hope you enjoy this chapter!

**DnDgamergirl** Thankyou very much for the review, I'm really pleased you're enjoying it, enjoy this chapter!

All reviews are greatly appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

Jareth was brooding. And what was worse, was that he was brooding on the throne. When alone in his room, it was bad, but not as bad as when he had Goblin was within range of his steel-capped toe. It was estimated that during this period of brooding, Jareth mortally injured forty-two Goblins who were far too idiotic to ignore Jareth's constant barking warnings.

Predictably, Jareth was looking into the crystal, as his magician muttered and occasionally delivered incantations causing Goblins self-combust in the background. He had grown tired recently, it was many the night that he would not succumb to sleep, and spent hours pacing the labyrinthine halls of his squalid castle. His tiredness frightened him, it reminded him of his age. His awesome incomparable age. He was still young by Fae standards, and was still youthful in appearance and manner. But looking at this girl, this young, fascinating, beautiful girl, it reminded him how short her time was, just how short a time it would take for her to wither and die. It all made him want to cry out in frustration for the futility of it all.

It was at this point in Jareth's thought processes that a small, mud-encrusted Goblin crawled an inch to near, and promptly received a smart kick that sent him flying at aero-dynamically defying speed across the room. This action resulted in the remaining gaggle of inebriated Goblins bursting into inane laughter. The result of this was for Jareth to scream at them to quieten or be sentenced to sixty-seven years suspended over the Bog of Eternal Stench. As you can imagine, silence fast descended over the throne room.

It was after this that Jareth took it upon himself to go riding. He had always enjoyed riding, and with help from Sophia, had become rather accomplished as a rider, it was said he had ridden many a horse to death or lameness. He had vast expansive stables, that were attended on by various misfits who inhabited the Goblin City, dwarfs, trolls, Jareth could of sworn he saw an energetic pixie there at some point as well. Most of those 'working' in the stables, had last seen Jareth two years before, and as a result they had taken to being rather negligent...of their duties. If fact after an investigation into the following occurrence, it was found that the employees had been involved with some rather...questionable...substances...

At the stables all was well, the employees were all sat merrily down, and doing no work whatsoever. They were in fact singing popular Goblinian chants that usually featured two words 'drink' and mischief.' The one being recited at the time was extremely popular, indeed, many considered it to be an integral part of Goblinian culture, here is a stanza particularly evocative of the daily life of an inhabitant of the Goblin city:

_And so we drank, drank, drank!_

_And we sank! Sank! Sank!_

_Into the hay of the glorious Jareth's throne room!_

It continues like this for forty more verses, each usually being a slight variation of the previous verse. As you can imagine, Goblins have only a minute potion (of their already peanut sized) brains devoted to imagination and creativity.

"What in the name of the Gods is going on here!" Jareth stormed over to who was clearly the head of the stables (for his appearance was slightly less squalid than that of the rest of the rabble.) He was comfortably posed with his arm around Jareth's best mare, deeply engrossed in a deep theological conversation.

"Y' know there's problems with this system – it's the problem of a monarchy that mean what we need is a democratically elected state." He burped contentedly, and proceeded to scream shrilly upon taking notice of Jareth's grim stare. "Oh shit! Oh bugger!" He bent down and began kissing Jareth's feet, slobbering over the newly polished leather, "your esteemed, holiness! If words could described how disgusted and simply flabbergasted I am at the negligence of my lazy good for nothing underlings!" He rose up and hollered frantically at the others, who were all still dozing, "Get to work you good for nothing sods! I'll have you all whipped for this!" That got their notice. They began mumbling and grumbling at their superior, mentioning the dreaded term 'trade unions,' and promptly began to throw themselves at Jareth's feet as they came to take notcie of his presence. The sight of Jareth with a face akin to thunder was enough to sober up even the most drunken of Goblins.

"So? I want an explanation, whatever you're name is! Tell me your name you disgusting boil!" The last comment was not unwarranted. The dwarf was a particularly hideous creation of nature, endowed with ample boils and flaking skin, he had the general appearance of a distortion in a trick mirror.

"Hoggle sir, Hoggle Littlebroke of the Dwarf -"

"Alright, alright I do not wish for a family history. Higgle?"

"Yes sir?" Hoggle looked alert, and extremely hopeful, raising his eyes expectantly up to Jareth, using the general stance of a neglected kitten, despite lacking any of the charm.

"I would like for you to saddle my horse, I will be going riding, I trust that you have not extended your negligence to the creatures themselves?"Jareth almost knew the answer before he asked the question. He was looking forward to delivering the punishment, it had been long since any crime of any seriousness had been carried out, and Jareth always distributed punishment with great relish.

Hoggle paled and began stuttering, before he lost all remaining composure, "we let them all go sir, I don't care what you do to me now, so I'll tell you bout it. They all looked beautiful, galloping off to the sunset, it was like that book y' know sir 'Bleak Beauty,' ah yes, those were the days, you should have been there sir" He patted the remaining mare on the nose, who snorted with appreciation for the gesture, "I'll be off now then sir," he began whistling nonchalantly and began to stride off into the distance. He stopped mid-step as Jareth ordered him to halt.

"What can I do for you good sir," he giggled. No one was sure if the giggle was a result of nervousness or madness.

"You, my dear Hogwash" he crouched down, as if preparing to lecture to a young child, "can be taken to the Oubliette!" The last words were blared in Hoggle's ear. As Jareth cried out for non-existent guards, the remaining offenders quickly (and wisely) took it upon themselves to offer their services, and dragged Hoggle off to the Oubliette, all the way he begged for mercy, begged for pity, for he seemed to of regained some appreciation of reality. All feared the oubliette, it was_ nearly_ as bad as the Bog, but one could be left in an oubliette for a far greater time, you see, those in the oubliettes are forgotten, always forgotten, and left to die a long and painful death. The pity never came, as Jareth had long since stalked off to the if hills at the boundaries of his kingdom. He had long since forgotten the hideous little dwarf.

Jareth stood atop the hill, hands in pockets, thinking. This was the place of confrontation, where all contenders to the Labyrinth came first before beginning their challenge. It depressed him to be here, this was the place of the wails and the rejections of what most clearly existed. He got that more than you would think, the place had driven many a man mad through the bizarreness of it all. The Labyrinth stretched out before him, expansive and gleaming with a kind of ethereal paleness. He never ceased to be in awe of it, it was one of the few things he had any respect for, excepting himself.

He longed to fully explore it one day, but it was forbidden, and he would be a fool to try. Only a handful had manoeuvred their way through, and it took days and days to conquer. Jareth feared he would grow tired of the challenge after a while entrapped within it's walls. A Goblin came scampering up the hills and tenuously tapped his boot, quivering like the last remaining leaf on a long-dead tree, "Your supremeness?" The voice was a high pitched squeak, rather like that of a mouse.

"Yes...?"

"Your magikcan told me he down it, he finished potion!" the little creature nearly exploded from the effort of delivering such a plethora of inaccurate grammar. But Jareth did not care for inaccurate grammar, no, now things could really begin. Jareth strode down the hills, whistling a little tune, despite the vast majority of his horses being released by negligent stable hands, he was happy, he would be with Sarah soon, in the flesh.

* * *

Thanks again lovely reviewers!

Irresistable Maleria - Aww, thankyou very much. That's lovely of you to say it's like Python, it's one of my favouite shows! I did kind of model the story on that kind of humour, so it's nice that it's showing!

DanikaLareyna - Glad you're continuing to enjoy it, I thought it would be interesting to give the story the kind of polar opposite genres of humour and tragedy ;). I've sent you a copy of this in the mail, it would be great if you could see if you could find any grammar faults, don't worry if you don't have any time though. If you get chance to look at it and notice anything, I'll re-upload a new version of the chapter. Sorry I've posted it before you've probably got chance to look, I'm eager to get it up and out of the way!

All reviews are greatly appreciated, and all reviewers will be wrote back to.

Enjoy this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

"So? What have you accomplished you good for nothing waste-of-valuable-space," Jareth prodded his magician with his riding crop, to accomplish the overall effect of perpetually ungrateful dictator.

"I am just adding the final touches the the transfiguration potion, m' lord," the magician, a skinny, weak and oily looking fellow added some fluorescent orange powder to the mix in front of him, as Jareth looked on, leaning in with keen interest, "Oh no sir, stay back you do not wish for your -"

"Charming face to be covered with residue," the magician twitched and fidgeted as Jareth stood, his face a text-book picture of fury, as he began to smear off the brilliant green slime from his face.

"You leave the room in one – two – thr -" The magician was gone from sight before Jareth was given chance to complete his lethal countdown. This magician was clever, of that he was sure, for a start he had some inkling of common sense. "And the next time you disturb me it had better with for good reason!" Jareth flopped down on his throne, feeling isolated and depressed, before immediately rising once again when he came to the realisation that being in his throne room, observing his Goblinian subjects guzzling down quarts of alcohol, depressed him far more than the possible alternatives, dipping his head into a vat of boiling oil for example, it would pain him, but not act to depress him.

So he set about wandering again. He had not had a good look round the rambling structure for a good long time, for him is castle consisted of the throne room, the Escher room and his bedroom. And then stairs. There were lot's of stairs and moth-eaten tapestries draped over the part decrepit areas of the castle, beyond the areas that he had played out almost all his entire (and extremely lengthy) life in, he knew nothing of his home.

So instead of taking the left door to his room, he continued up the passageway, occasionally barking at any stray Goblins who wandered in his path, being an evil malovelant overlord takes some degree of practice. The first place of any significance he came across was a library, now Jareth had never shown an interest in reading, however, his long-dead brother had shown a curious interest in literacy and manuscripts by authors from distant kingdoms (simply because the only pieces of writing produced by Goblins were atrociously spelt political decrees and 'quaint' folk rhymes that focused only on one subject – alcohol, and as you can imagine neither were of any interest to any soul-searching heir worth their salt.) It was eerie, like stepping back into the time of life, when the balls and the banquets had taken place daily. It gave him a chill, his brother's quill and half-finished manuscripts still lay as he must of left them days before he died. Jareth did not venture to look on the words scrawled onto the page, he was afraid of what he might find. Jareth turned away from the library and moved on once more, strangely disconcerted.

* * *

Unknown to Jareth, his dead brother was currently conversing with a rather drunken Goblin back in the throne room. Being of limited perception, Jareth could not notice the ethereal shadow of his brother's visage, but that was not to say Goblins couldn't. For they were too simple minded for it to be necessary to erase the post-mortality personage from their vision. "_So, old Jareth has taken it upon himself to expand his horizons beyond this hay lined hovel. His mind must be positively close to self-combusting from the effort of it all." _He gave a ghostly sigh, emitting a sharp cold cloud through the air, a sigh with no source to the casual observer. 

His Goblin companion responded, "yeah. He went dat way." He burped crudely, before settling back to the comfort of the dripping tap from the beer barrel.

"So? Do you think I should follow him?"

"Whatever." The Goblin responded to the the enquiry dismissively, being far more interested in the steady drips from the rotten barrel of ale. So the ghost of Jareth's brother, the long since expired ex-heir apparent, floated away surrounded by an aura of depressive cold air, mainly to ensure Jareth didn't do anything to idiotic or act without thinking, something Jareth did many a time.

* * *

And so Jareth ploughed on, so far he had discovered his parents' master bedroom, which came complete with a ridiculously oversized four poster bed, carved with the jeering and mocking faces of Goblins. They were surprisingly accurate snatches of reality, especially considering the extremely limited skill base in the Underground. It was a miracle (Jareth mused) that his mother had not fled on her wedding night, with the deformed images from the bed posts leering at her, and no, Jareth was not thinking of his father. 

He had also came across his sisters rooms. All were extremely similar, indeed most were monotonous in the extreme. All were decorated with flaking pink walls, all were equipped with an expansive wardrobe, all were quipped with a cuddly Unicorn toy atop the pillow. His brother's room however had not been apparent to him, not until the end of his tour, it was at the back of the castle, and it was locked. Being Jareth he immediately attempted to kick it down, but this was one barrier his steel toed boots would not overcome.

"_You have never heard of subtlety have you Jareth?"_ Jareth looked vague and puzzled, as if trying to hear something out of reach, but shrugged and continued trying to bang down the door. "_Oh for the love of mercy! You were always an imbecile Jareth, far more interested in the serving wrenches than Shakespeare. You have no taste! Your a brutish incompetent! And your poetry is the bane of all – it is your poetry that leads the wolves to howl at night with the pain of having to endure your atrocious rhyme schemes!"_ Nothing, totally unresponsive. Nothing for Jareth either, the door would just not budge. It was when both deceased and living had given up, that Jareth's magician came racing up the halls, one hand grasping hold of his ridiculously elongated wizard's hat, the other gripped around a vial of bubbling indigo mixture, that fizzed energetically.

"You! I thought I warned you not to approach me unless - " Jareth's mind slowly kicked into gear, and he quickly gripped hold of the magicians shoulders, utilising his (significant) resources of strength to lift him several inches off the ground in anticipation, "the formula! You have my formula my wonderful, multi talented man of the wizarding profession!"

"_It's just wizard you fool, there is no need to add 'ing' onto the end of it, let along 'profession'!"_ His brother shook his head in incomprehension of Jareth's foul grasp of the use of the good noun.

"Give it to me now you foul excuse for a wizard! Gimme, gimme , gimme!" Jareth hopped about like an excited child, and the magician disconcerted by Jareth's changeability hurriedly passed him the container.

"The vial of dreams..." Jareth raised the potion to his lips.

"_Stop trying to be poetic Jareth, you're failing. And failing badly."_

Jareth bent over double, choking, at first he thought he was dying, and his brother agreed with him on that count as Jareth had turned a brilliant shade of green. But he was not, mainly because any magician worth his gold knows that payment is likely not to be forthcoming if the employer in question is deceased. It was working, Jareth's shape blurred then elongated and twisted, as if he were a clay composite being pulled to pieces, his shape ultimately became that of a snowy owl, keen and sharp eyed, arching it's wings in preparation for flight.

"_That's Jareth for you, always so showy..."_ His brother turned away with disgust at Jareth's frivolity as the owl soared from the window, as the owl soared up to the far reaches of the aboveground.

* * *

This is actually one of my favourites chapters. It was very fun to write. I had best warn you all I will not be writing again until the new year - it's getting to be a busy time now! 

Right, and onto my lovely reviewers.

**Miharu Kawashi** – Thank-you very much for the review, I'm glad you find it funny! And yes, I will most certainly be covering Sarah's run. That will be covered in this story, and then there will (hopefully) be a sequel where I cover Sarah's life after Labyrinth. It will probably be more serious than this, but I'll still try to make it funny!

**Irresistible Malaria** - Thanks, and I like your attitude! It's nice that you can be bothered to take the time to review. As for the steel toed boots, I got that from my brother, he's a gardener and he has to wear them sometimes, he was telling me how painful they were if anyone hit you with them, and voilà! Inspiration.

**InuLvr7** – Thank-you for the review, I'm glad you're keeping with the story! Hope you like this chapter!

Enjoy this chapter everyone, and please review, all reviews are welcome!

**EDIT:** I forgot one very important thing before...

**Merry Christmas and Happy new year to you all!**


	8. Chapter 8

And Jareth soared high, high into the twilight. With star-studded skies as his backdrop, the violet hued evening the landscape to his journey.

Never had he imagined such was the glorious nature of flight. Jareth had long worshipped at the idol of power, and the power the feeling of flight can give is overwhelming, intoxicating, it dwarves all else, it was the long-awaited reward for his fervent devotion.

Jareth had forever been madly jealous of his brother, who the Goblinian priests had endowed with the name Lasander. For Lasander had been taught all the skills that he had never had a chance to put to use, the skills that Jareth as ruler needed so badly. _Lasander_ had been taught to shift, _Lasander_ had been taught to understand the hopelessly complicated political jargon, _Lasander_ had been taught how to rule. All notions Jareth had not the remotest grasp of, not because of a lack on intelligence, indeed Jareth was as sharp as a blade, but simply because no-one had had the foggiest idea he was going to end up on the throne. Though of course the fact he was a reckless, hot headed, womaniser did not help the situation.

Jareth had always had to stay sealed in the decrepit stone walls of the castle, bored and brooding whilst Lasander committed the interesting tasks that accompany the fact that one is royal. Jareth's mother had petted him, as he was her youngest child, she had tried to keep him young by dressing him in ribboned skirts and went into a cataclysmic state of shock when he learnt how to write. As a result, Jareth had grown selfish and vain. Always unsatisfied with all the plenty and the power that was laid at his feet. Always looking for more. Always seeking what he could not have.

Jareth was breaking through the barrier, the barrier between the Underground and our world. Under normal, unforced circumstances, it could only be broken by the call of the desperate and malovelantly minded, passing through the barrier unheralded was like forcing a wound, unspeakably painful and excruciating. His form felt like it was being manipulated and torn at by a pit of ravenous devils. But he came through it, breaking through into the clear blue skies of the aboveground.

It was strange there. Of course when you have never left a certain climate, that is normality, all else is alien. But comparing the aboveground to the underground, the underground seemed stifling and heated in comparison to the startling icy nature of it's atmosphere. The feeling was akin to that of submerging your face in a bowl of freezing water.

He had emerged directly above the park, the sight of which he was now so familiar with. The green lawn, the wide river, the cobbled bridge all were in place, as if players poised on a stage. He swooped down toward the park, gracefully slicing through the skies, settling atop a marble pillar. It was then that Sarah came into view, sprinting across the green blades, laughing with a childish glee. Not a single care in the world.

_You will soon have a care my dear, you may hold trust in that._

* * *

Back in the Underground chaos had ensued.

"Where has Jareth gone now!" The recently re-promoted Prime-minister Scuttle was desperately searching for the remotest trace of his glorious and otherwise preoccupied sovereign. He was currently peering inside a cracked teapot for example, scrutinising the non-existent conetents.

"Off to see that strange two-legged girl your esteemicy!" Goblins always like to express perfectly simplistic subjects through means of totally unnecessary complexity, that is if they are capable of expressing themselves through any thing other than monosyllabic terms.

"_If anything it would be your esteemed majesty, you foolish incompetents,"_ Lasander sighed at the futility of it all. He proceeded to wander desolately about the throne room, rattling a few chains and emitting several generic ghostly groans. Unfortunately as prime-minister Scuttle was of remotely increased intelligence to your average Goblin, Lasander could not communicate with the frenzied prime-minister and let him know his well-fermented opinions on his idiotic, reckless, younger brother actions.

"Why can't he just get a Fae mistress? Like _normal_ monarchs under the age of a hundred thousand, it's not as if we're asking him to take on a Goblin maiden as a companion..."_ Good point, good point. Or better, why can't he be like me? I didn't need mistresses, no, I had my books. Lovely, cuddly, books, better than a mistress any day. If only Jareth would show the remotest inclination to intellectual thought..._

He left Scuttle and his throng of extremely incompetent aides having simultaneous panic attacks as the call pealed through the castle, summoning the (conspicuously absent) Goblin King to steal away a troublesome infant. They all knew what had to happen as this point. It was the time of the dress-up, and involved the prime-minister donning a wig, and press ganging the resident wizard into forming some, vaguely convincing illusion, about him so as to prevent the threatening dark presence of the Goblin King manifesting itself as a warty, snivelling, verruca encrusted subject. The last Lasander heard of Scuttle's pleas to the magician before drifting off were 'or I'll ordered you to be thrown into the oubliette!" Eager responses and muttering of incantations on the part of the magical personage followed, wizards were indeed wise, they certainly knew when to act, at least when it involved the threatening of their immediate material comfort.

* * *

Jareth sat watching the girl run from his arched shadowed eyes. With this form, he was given a new perspective, his eyes were keener than they ever had been and seemed to take-in all the surrounding intricacies of life with a far greater clarity than ever before. He could see her clearly now, no more was she a blurred indistinct figure in the midst of a botanical landscape, she was a chiselled sharp presence. Her hair was long and dark, skin light and fair, with rosy lips and cheeks. She had an expressive face - it had great aptitude for joy, as well as utter despair.

She was running faster than before now, and it did not take Jareth to see why. A boy. A boy was following on her heels, close to matching her furious pace. He arched both wings as they drew near, ready to swoop down and utilise his finely sharpened talons if he showed the slightest motion of threat to the girl. But it did not take long for him to realise that the boy was no threat, he meant no hostility. They were friends, _bosom companions_ you might say. He could see the exhilaration drive her and her frenzied squeals when the boy caught up and began tickling her in the ribs mercilessly.

"Stop it!" She whacked away his hands playfully, once again picking up the pace. She ran close to Jareth, close enough to reach out and touch his form if she so wished, but she had no eyes for what was closed to her perceptions. For her, no owl stood atop the marble pillar.

"Wait up Sarah! I need to talk to you," _So Sarah, that's her name. A beautiful name. It fits her._

"What is it?" She turned to smile at him. _A dazzling smile. A smile with the potential to light the darkest of chambers._ Jareth could scarcely believe the vast quantities of poetic potential she was emanating, he could write a whole volume on their first encounter if he so wished. The limitless possibilities she was introducing to him.

"I was wondering if, if-" he paused, and stuttered awkwardly for several trailing moments, before she egged him on, drawing a continuation from his unforthcoming lips, "do you wanna come to the movies with me?" A pregnant pause, "there's this great film on at the weekend, it's about this -"

"I dunno...I've gotta look after Toby again at the weekend..." she blushed awkwardly, she was lying. She had time, that is if she would make time, she had the whole afternoon on the approaching Saturday. But Sarah Williams had more important matters dwelling in her mind. Like the play, right now learning _the_ play was the most important thing in the world for her, she was not sure of the reason. All she understood was the over-riding importance of learning that little red book word-for-word.

There were a few more forced exchanges, before they parted leaving Sarah alone in the green expanse of the park. She loved it there, it was one of the few places that she felt she truly belonged to, she'd spend her every spare moment there, when not dreaming away the time in the classroom or playing guardian for her troublesome brother. And more recently she'd taken to coming in early evening, when the place was deserted, and she'd strut over the stone-built bridge, reciting the play word-perfect, draped in a discarded curtain or dragging one of her mother's old, old theatre dresses with their frills and their flounces across the muddied ground. She could picture herself in the part, she truly could, but not on any stage, she could see herself as the girl in stark reality. You see, that play was as real to her as the wind and the rain falling on her face.

And Jareth knew. Jareth was generally to lazy to exercise any of his mind skills, but for Sarah exceptions would ensue, for Sarah he _would_ make an effort, for Sarah he would move the stars. And he saw the events play out in her mind. _Oh how perfect, you would think she was a prophetess. Well I for one will see her little play comes true. Truer than she could ever imagine in her fantasies._

And with that he flew to meet the now darkening skies. It was time for the preparations to ensue.

* * *

Well, back from hiatus, hope you all had wonderful holidays everyone and I wish a happy and prosperous 2007 to you all! This chapter is much longer than usually, about 1600 words, I'm quite pleased with it though, it's probably one of my favourite chapters so far, and as you can probably tell I'm beginning to move away from the constant stream of humour now, though it's still there ;).

Anyway, onto my great reviewers!

**InuLvr7 **- Hi again, hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry about making Jareth a bit dim, I have hopefully explained why here though. His total lack of education is mainly due to being molly-coddled and 'protected' by a possessive mother, it's actually based on examples in real royalty, clingy mothers were very common in the 1800's (and they did dress little boys in skirts, even until they were about seven in some cases!)

**Irresistible Malaria** - Asking my brother, he hasn't actually been kicked with steel toed boots, but has friends who have, and told him suitably excruciating tales about the experience! I did go to one party, and the next chapter is going to have a party (or at least preparations for a party) in it and there are some characters from the real life party that will probably worm their way into the fiction! Enjoy this chapter!

**Miharu Kiwaski** - That's the perfect word to describe my version of Jareth here - compulsive, he's abit like some of the idiots I use to know at school, do first think later, only with far more charm and better looking ;). Hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Danika** - I'm glad you like Lasander (as I have christened him, based on the name Lysander from Shakespeare), to be honest, I was struggling with writing chapter 7 and then the idea for a plot device came to me in the form of a ghostly brother for Jareth. A learned and probably quite dull brother who is supremely irritated by the fact is annoying ignoramus of a younger brother has came to the throne in place of him.

That's it for now, should be updating again in a few days!

Oh yeah, reviews are VERY VERY welcome, and as you can tell, all will be responded to.


	9. Chapter 9

"Scuffle?" The long suffering Prime-minister Scuttle, had just finished going through the motions with another devastated personage who had failed the Labyrinth when Jareth called his name – and the contender had just lost their child. It had only been a young girl, too young to be a mother really, but a mother nonetheless, the infant had wailed and wailed till she could stand it no longer, as it is with all infants, and the child had been wished away in a fit of fury. She'd tried, she'd regretted the words, regretted them more than all other folly in her life, but she couldn't win, never even got pass the riddlers, and had just curled up and cried and cried in the shadowy gloom of the Oubliette. Scuttle had went to her and offered her the choice – leave the child and you will be returned with enough sorrow and regret to last a lifetime or offer yourself and the child will be returned. She chose as all do – keep the child, release _me_ from this nightmare. None realise the true imprisonment comes from a lengthy life back in the realm of normality – a life consumed with wretched guilt is no life at all. The babe was a cheery child despite it's past circumstance and made a similarly happy Goblin – capering madly about the throne room with the other young ones chasing the chickens and chewing on the straw. It's life was happier there, happier than life would ever be with the bleak bars of the crib back home.

"Yes Oh glorious one," Scuttle skittered close to the points of Jareth's boots, dangerously close. But no kick came, that in itself unnerved Scuttle.

"I have a task for you Scuttle, if you accomplish it to any degree of skill or majesty you will be greatly rewarded, if not you my trust in the fact that you will be stripped of your rank, your wealth and your of above-average comfort hovel and be thrown into the darkest, dingiest most haunted Oubliette the Labyrinth contains. Am I making the magnitude of your task clear?" Fervent nodding. "So I will now inform you of your task, I am going to call court, and you my vertically challenged head if state will be behind the preparations."

Scuttle very nearly ran to the window to throw himself onto the cobbles below, a fate better than trying to manage the glitz and the glamour of a pseudo Fae court. Few could remember Jareth's last ball but Scuttle could, just vaguely, it had been just before the girl had consumed Jareth taken his absolute attention and energy. There had been endless weeks of planning, the rooms all had to be made up, freshened and convincingly disguised to re-assume their past splendour, the Goblins would be kicked out of the throne room, whimpering and clawing by the door till in vain hope of re-entry. The parties went on for days at a time, none resting for sleep, endless platters of luxuries entered, bare carcasses returned, roast Quack birds was devoured in their dozens and Elfin Wines were consumed like common bog water. It was said, at that last party, an ambassador from the Fae court, ate so much that he _died_, he died from over-eating. Of course this had been of great amusement to Jareth, his band of courtiers and fawning female companions.

But Scuttle held himself back. Deep breaths – control – party planners. After closing his eyes and crossing his stubby fingers behind his back, he affirmed his agreement. He could handle it, or at least he hoped to the plethora of Scrabblescruff Gods he could.

Jareth was in a dangerously elated mood. His first action was to grant a pardon to all prisoners, clearing the Oubliette's, and freeing a certain Dwarf going by the name of 'Hoggle' in the process. Hoggle proved to be apt in the area of pest control, and so was granted the position of royal gardener and he would occasionally snip absently away at the hedge garden and proved to be amazingly skilled at bringing the Labyrinth's _Fata Morsus_ population (more commonly known as 'biting faeries') close to extinction In return he was granted use of a cottage and an allowance for food and materials – in this time, life for Hoggle was good, in his little ramshackle thatch cottage with it's dilapidated smoking chimney, badly kept wilderness of a vegetable garden and rat infested interior.

His next move was to wander the twists and precarious turns of the Labyrinth itself, something he had never ventured to do before, heels clicking and cape billowing. He issued a series of barking instructions to all it's guardian's he came across. _There is a girl coming_ he would say,_ and you must do anything you can to distract her from her task, switch and confuse, disorientate and bemuse. I do not care what methods you make use of, any will do, as long as none of your methods harm or endanger her. If she reaches the castle – I will ensure you will dearly wish you never set eyes on my visage. _He had a particularly long and infuriating converse with the guardian of the bridge leading past the Bog of Eternal Stench, which resulted in the bizarre fox like creation being flung into the bog, only to land gracefully on an overhanging tree branch and compliment his majesty on his artful arm thrust.

He encountered the Wise Man deep in the heart of the maddeningly intricate structure, whose appearance was complete with raving bird head poking out precariously from his withered skull. The Wise Man was interchangeable as the royal family's holy man, having crowned all kings in living memory, and christened them all to boot. Including all of Jareth's numerous siblings who were bestowed with the rather long and complicated list of names as follows, Lasander, Olga, Tatyana, Maria, Anastasia, Alexandra, Alyss, Irina, Xenia, Nina, Marina, Angelina, Valeriya and finally Jareth himself . As you may be guessing, there was something of a vogue for Russian names at the time. He was slightly senile, and tended to speak entirely in quotes from an ancient volume of classical poetry some contender to the Labyrinth had discarded an age ago. Jareth spoke a few words to him, out of etiquette and marginal respect for his incomparable age and made to leave until the figure began speaking in a strange tongue – he was actually speaking something that included no syntactical parallelism or intricate metaphor.

"You – you're him aren't you? The Goblin King?" The wonderment and shock with which he said it was utterly convincing, if Jareth had not known the man from birth, he would of entered into the 'you-have-wished-away-a-child' speech from habit.

"Are you insinuating I appear to you as something other than my self? Titania the fairy Queen perhaps?" Jareth was not in the mood for jest, well, jest from anyone but himself that is.

"A girl, I see _you_ chasing after a girl. Wait!" He paused, screwing his eyes shut in withered concentration as Jareth's leather boots tapped with growing impatience at his derangement, "a human girl!" Jareth's head turned with a flash, riveted to his words "Oh Jareth, you can't do that, it's not allowed, when you were crowned you swore an oath never to break the ancient laws on conduct, and you know full and well what you are planning is an absolute violation of at least seven of them." Bugger. He had to retain _that_ ounce of rationality, why couldn't he remember what day of the week it was periodically, or the name of his childhood friend, like _normal_ sufferers of near-total memory loss.

"King's break laws. That is our purpose. To challenge and change." Jareth was not prepared to justify his plans, his plans were his own – no outsiders were to meddle with him and Sarah.

"Not those laws you - you young scally wag! My grand-father dictated those laws, the only laws to override the power of the Goblin King, and you will abide by them Jareth," the elder looked on through withered aged eyes, as if too tired to chide another time.

"Thatz vite Boz!" The bizarre bird head spouted a torrent of vaguely exotically tinged insults, to which Jareth seized the impertinent around it's elongated neck, forcing a faint 'Aye Curuumba!' to emit from it's flapping beak.

"If either you, or your ludicrous sentient fowl, dare challenge my plans, actions or views ever again, either in my hearing or from it. I will ensure that you will be silenced. I shall remind you one more time that I am all seeing, all knowing. You are an old man now, _Wise-man_, so easy to topple, it would be best for you to comply with my will. I am leaving now and I will hear no more words from you!"

"Silly Boy..." The wise man ambled off to his leather bound book of poetry flicking through the splintered and crackling pages to seek his favourite title, reading the same line over and over again until it was retained irrevocably in his memory:

"_Stone walls do not a prison make or iron bars a cage"_

* * *

- Scrabblescruff – The Goblinian religion. It involves hitting oneself over the head with a plank of wood until unconscious each night at seven (it was in fact a government ploy to stop night-time drunken disorder.) As you can imagine, despite superficial participation, the royal family do not live by this bizarre practice.

- This is excluding patronymics, full imperial titles and dimunitives. Trust me, to list them all would double the word count.

* * *

Phew, that's done, only about 3 more chapters to go now I'm guessing. There will be two stories in between this and the (main) sequel, one I've already written and one half finished, as you can guess I'm a bit ahead of myself.

Anyway, on to my great reviewers!

**Notwritten** – Thanks for your review, I'm glad your enjoying it, and hope you like this chapter.

**Utratturi **– Thanks for your review, it's nice to have a new reviewer! I'm glad your enjoying it, hopefully this chapter should be good for those who like the humour bits, as I've purposely included more humour after the relative humourless tone of the last chapter.

Please, please review if you have anything to say about my story! All reviews are greatly appreciated!

Should be updating again soon, chow!

**EXTRA DISCLAIMER:** Oh yes, the poem the quote is taken from is called _To Althea, From Prison_ and is by Richard Lovelace, no idea who it belongs to, but it's certainly not to me.


	10. Chapter 10

Scuttle heaved an immense sigh of relief, he had just finalised the final preparations, the party was ready to commence. All was in place, new paint had been applied to the flaking walls of the chambers, tapestries swiftly positioned over the most conspicuous chasms in the brick-work and the festering damp spots on the walls. Astrum Orchids had been especially imported in their dozens and had been carefully positioned about the castle, even in the throne room, a room to which colour and variety were alien concepts, their fragrance was overpowering, stifling even, it made the world turn to a perfumed haze.

Jareth himself had sent for a wide range of staff, courtiers to feign familiarity, servants to be act as paid labour to the rich and indulged, maids to scrub and freshen, waiters to deliver endless chains of delicacies, musicians to weave enchantment about the place, dancers to divert and pleasure. Though of course all afore mentioned staff were of greatest importance to the proceedings the most vital of all paid labour was the tailor.

Jareth had an expansive wardrobe, indeed, it had the same dimensions as those of the throne room, but Jareth complained of all the fine silks, satins and cashmeres in his possession as being out of _vogue_ and insisted on raising the taxes by a significant figure to furnish an entirely new wardrobe. No Goblins were allowed entry when Jareth was being measured for his garments, but his shouts and demands to the quaking tailor were audible to all, and included several threats of death delivered by his majesty that were swiftly returned by soothing praise from the wise and noble tailor. There was however a greater purpose for this tailor, a dress needed to be sewn, the most beautiful thing any and all would ever know. It would shine like a candle in a pitch-dark room, illuminate the darkest corner. The dress would be truly magical.

Whilst all the preparations were afoot, the kitchens were being cleaned (much to the chagrin of the Great Cook who saw the process as being totally unnecessary, indeed she stated that the fungus's from the sideboard were remarkably useful as a seasoning for her signature dish 'Brown slime') and supplied with materials that would ensure a feast beyond imagining, a feast that would mean Weech the Great Cook would be cooking something other than 'unknown brown substance' for the first time in several thousand years. To try and eloquently introduce the concept of _Haute Cuisine_ to her vocabulary, a cook from the court of the estranged Cousin Sophia was heavily bribed into assisting with the preparations for the grand banquet, as you will discover, their relationship was - - tempestuous to stay the least.

* * *

In other areas of the castle, primarily the library, which was no longer the object of Jareth's scorn. Jareth was actually _learning_, much to the wonderment of his deceased elder sibling, Lasander, who followed his brother's questionable progress with great interest. Jareth, noting his beloveds apparent interest in literature and 'higher learning' (as it was referred to in her maze of thought) had enrolled his magician to moonlight as teacher, and was currently struggling with eighteenth century romantic poetry, which included vast quantities of archaic language that would indeed be extremely impressive if delivered aptly, something of which Jareth was not capable.

"So, _lenient_, that means strictness and severity, does it not?" Jareth stared steadfastly at his temporal tutor. Gulping, the tutor responded:

"Well, your majesty, lenient does it fact imply that - that," the unmoving severity of Jareth's gaze was turning him into a nervous wreck, a century he had been employed there now, a _century _he could hardly believed he had held out so long, still, there was hope, there was to be a plethora of nobility and royalty attending the meet, and it was his aim to latch onto one of them, anything to escape the hell of servitude to such a king as Jareth. He could not bear to induce Jareth's wrath and so, doing as he had done many a time before, gave into Jareth's falsity, "yes indeed your majesty, congratulations are due to your advances in learning! Shall we move on toward today's sorcerous activities?"

As the magician lazily waved his withered oak wand, summoning the opus of magical activities to be drawn to his lap, Lasander was fuming silently, a ghostly form lurking in the shadows to the activity. _Lenient! How in the name of Scrabblescruff could you mis-use lenient you imbecile Jareth, and you, you useless excuse for a man of higher thinking! Lenient – merciful, generous or indulgent! Perfectly simple concepts. Are you going to sign death warrants that state 'deal with leniently' in the belief a punishment of suitable severity will be committed? Oh alas, all hope is lost! _In a reflection of his frustration he sent a powerful wave of wind towards Jareth's work table, blowing all his papers in a flurry to the floor. _It's better not to learn at all, than learn lies._ And with that, Lasander vanished from the room, back to the soothing abyss.

The sorcery the magician was referring to, was Jareth's other area of current study. As with all those of noble blood, Jareth was born with skills, minor skill in (what we know as) telepathy, and the ability to apparate and disapparate at will anywhere in the reaches of his own kingdom, a gift that never failed to induce fear and shock. Jareth was currently being taught to expand these skills, as well as add to them, namely he was studying wilful transformation and the arts of creation, mimicry, illusion and projection. He had been practising on his crystals, creating copies, his progress was admirable, perfect visual illusions could be attained, but to touch – with a touch they would disintegrate with an effect similar to that of a blow on a Dandelion clock. However Jareth's main focus was projection, projecting the illusion of one scene to the mind of another, perfectly convincing and realistic in every aspect, but for an illusion to be planted in a mind – the event needed to occur in reality, albeit without their participation, and this was just what was to occur. The ball was for Sarah – all for Sarah.

* * *

The day of the spectacle dawned bright and clear, just as the shadows of the first carriages broke onto the horizon. Jareth had invited all his living sisters, he had never been close to them but felt in the mood for generosity and reconciliation, and was determined to impress his image upon their minds. To make them proud of the brother they never truly knew. Jareth was splendidly attired in black riding breeches, silken shirt and twilight satin waistcoat, along with his treasured silver amulet hung about his neck, it's silver form enhanced by the shadowy backdrop. He knew his sisters faces from a portrait painted when he was but a small child, but with his sisters and Lasander all fully grown, as all were ageless, he trusted for familiarity to ensue. However problems were to occur, as always does as a result of lengthy alienation.

"Ah, my sister Maria! What a delight it is to set sight on your lovely features again, come let us embrace sister, we shall retire with our other relatives when all have assembled shall we not?" Jareth smiled desperately – the only people to ever remove his air of reckless confidence where his family, and little had changed, even is several thousand years.

"Olga. My name is _Olga,_ younger inept brother. Spare the flattery and you will address me by my full title Grand Duchess Olga Wurbelovna mistress of the land of despair beyond the mountains that lie beyond the Goblin City, and don't you bloody well forget it you irresponsible pratt. If you want to make your miserable self useful, show me to the library." Lifting her legs high to jump not-so-gracefully from the carriage, and calling to her severely traumistised husband to 'wait in the cab, Gerald.' She forced her arm in Jareth's and steered him toward the direction of the library, chastising him constantly in his ineffectual ruling and the fact that he not yet managed to seek out a wife to continue the glorious heritage of the Goblin Monarchs. "And why on earth have you not yet found yourself a wife? Unless of course you repulse all those you make commerce with, is that the case?"

"No, it is not, impertinent sister. And I will remind you, you are under the rules of my kingdom and if I so wish I can -"

"Can what? Dazzle me to death with your frightful hair, you can't scare _me_ Jareth, I remember you when mother dressed you in petticoats, and put ribbons in your hair and can you remember that time when she put lip -"

"Enough! Stop, I see your point _wise_ sister, moving on, and returning to your first point, the problem of a wife shall soon be reconciled. If you're courtesy toward me and my kingdom improves you will be sure to receive an invitation to the wedding."

"Don't bet on seeing me in the pew then." Hastily showing her into the library, Jareth withdrew, he had never seen his sisters as being anything else other than near-clones of each other, identical in attitudes, interests and philosophy. How wrong he was soon proven.

Swiftly returning to the gates, utilising his newly enhanced appariation skills, Jareth saw the approach of another carriage. Hopefully another of his sisters - hopefully a sister who he could accurately identify.

"My beloved sister Tatyana," Jareth had two of his long elegant fingers twisted behind his back as he spoke her name.

"Tatyana? You must be joking befuddled brother, I'm Anastasia, the comical one, do you not remember the time I threw Lasander's treasured compendium of epic poetry into the wastes? Oh happy days! I don't look like that old fudge Tatya do I? Gimme a hand down will you?" Jareth warily proffered his hand which received a not to subtle electric shock from an apparatus hidden in her gloves – Jareth was thoroughly confused. Anastasia was indeed supremely different to Olga and indeed Tatayana, as he would later discover. Whereas Olga had been gowned in an elaborate Scarlet gown, exquisitely embroidered and cut with streamlined efficiency, Anastasia was exhibiting very male attire, breeches and a waistcoat not dissimilar to her brothers, despite her appearance, she possessed a husband, having been married at what would comparatively be around thirteen years of age to a count from a distant province, some Elvin court, judging by the angular nature of his features. After chatting gaily to her brother for a time she retired to her rooms.

Tatyana and Maria followed, with Jareth some how managing to mistake both their names, for Tatyana, it was referring to her as Titania, an endearment that resulted in a strike over the ears and a cry of 'insolent boy!' Tatyana had a nature similar to that of a school mistress – strict and severe, and ingrained with a bitter contempt for Jareth, his actions, policy etc. etc. Maria proved to be of an entirely opposing nature – sweet and kindly, and possessing her mother's robust health and fullness of face. After informing her of her sister Marina's inability to attend ('she's pregnant, again! How many would that make it, fifteen?') she had kissed him and been gracious – thanking him for the invitation and bringing tokens of appreciation, namely a new pendant and several slaves for which he was deeply appreciative – one was always in need of more slaves – especially when events in the kitchen could be likened to the battle of Waterloo.

* * *

Down in the bowels of the castle, chaos reigned supreme in the kitchens. The imported equestrian chef, who had passed the greater portion of the day in befuddled wonderment, was cowering behind a side unit, as Weech prowled every corner, meat cleaver held aloft, blade glinting in the flickering lamp light, eagerly searching for the potential ingredient that was sure to add an _exotic_ flavour to her main course.

After having tried to introduce the concept of 'seasoning' to her perceptions, relations had turned sour, an argument carried in at least 4 different language and 34 different dialects had commenced, with screaming and cursing that could be heard it was said, in the outer reaches of the kingdom.

Blissfully unaware of the murderous state of affairs in the bowels of the castle, Jareth's guests were arriving in their dozens. Stable Goblins ran frantically to tame bucking, foaming mouthed horses, half wild with exhaustion. Ushers and porters were present to handle luggage and pleasantries as Jareth had not the time to deal with others now. Sarah called, her frustration and resentment toward the infant was building, the _words_ were now pressed in her memory. Jareth could manipulate dreams, but he could only manipulate and distort existing dreams – and dreams were something Sarah had in great quantity. In her dreams Sarah was without exception the princess in the fairytale – and Jareth would spend hours close to her thoughts, with her in her fairy tales, murmuring the words into her ear, ordering her to speak them.

The time was drawing near.

* * *

Wow, if you've got here, well done! That was the longest chapter I've ever written for anything. It seemed to go on and on, it was originally going to be longer than this, untill I realised that would be unworkable and decided to give the ball a chapter of it's own. Oh yes, and the use of lenient as a plot point is because up untill recently, I thought lenient meant strict, it was rather funny when I found out it meant the opposite!

Oh yes, I've come up with title's for the sequels and other projects I have on, '**Thursday's Child'** will be the name of the main 'sequel' (it will not be a direct sequel) '**Slipping though my Fingers'** (about Linda (Sarah's mother) and Sarah) and '**How it feels to fail'** (set immediately after the end of this.) If any of you have any opinions on any of these titles, I'd love to hear them!

Anyway, onto reviewers:

**notwritten **- Glad you like it. Keep with it, not that many chapters before the finish now! I hope you like this chapter!

**Irresistable Malaria** - Phew, it's nice to see one of my old reviewers back again! I'm glad you found that funny, the name just came to me out of the blue when I's writing charecter descriptions, and I thought I'd use it in the story. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Anyway, please, please review, they really help!

**EXTRA DISCLAIMER:** Weech the great cook does not belong to me, that charecter is lifted directly from Goblins of the Labyrinth and belongs to Brian Froud and Terry Jones, she's so funny though, had to include her somewhere!


	11. Chapter 11

The throng assembled in the wide roofed room settled into an attentive hush. The crier stood poised to attention, toes straining to raise his height. The doors were flung open with a tremendous force, and so it began.

"His Royal Highness, King Jareth, Lord of the outer reaches, the Goblin realm, Overseer of the Dukedom of the Bogland Marsh," the callers mouth was open, poised to continue, until Jareth shot him a glare, and his words faded to meet the hush.

Jareth settled on his throne, as the titles of his sisters and their consorts were read out in succession as they trailed into the room behind his steps, as elaborately gowned as Jareth himself was attired. He had changed to evening dress, donning an elaborate frock coat painstakingly embroidered with diamantes and the colour of a brooding night sky. He surveyed the scene, _so long since this stage last saw life, _the guestshad already began their dancing, the first dance in honor of the king. The ladies were dressed beautifully, in silks of all colours, draped with jewels, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, the room had a hopelessly fantastical air, as if a dream-world leading a fragile temporal existence, but my was it living it to the full.

The first stage of events was the most drawn out of the necessities of the evening, a series of introductions, whereby all guests would bow or curtsy dependent on sex, and pass pleasantries and pretty talk, before Jareth would move on to the next faceless guests. This, in accordance with custom occurred in order of rank, Oberon, supreme ruler of the entire land of Sidhe, was of course occupied with other matters of greater magnitude and had in his stead sent his henchman and general troublemaker, Robin Goodfellow, infamous to all as Puck. Sending Puck as an emissary was generally considered to be a snub, there was no love lost between Oberon and Jareth. An exemplary example of Puck's misconduct was the time when he inadvertently managed to steal all the clothes from the guests at a lavish costume party, leading to much hilarity.

"My lord Jareth." Puck jiggled his head slightly before his face broke into a broad, manical grin, "your fortunes fare well m'lord? You appear in good health, I am assuming you have disposed of your unruly, drunken lot manifested in the form of the Goblin kingdom?"

"No, I fear not my _friend_ Puck, send my kindest regards to Oberon and his fair Titania, and leave my sight. The purveyor of intoxicating substances passes behind ye." Puck eagerly chased after a Golden skinned girl pouring drinks from her slender willowy fingers, promptly leading for her to throw the tray into mid-air when Puck pulled the back of her dress off, leading to her running screaming promptly from the hall, with Puck in close pursuit.

"Good tidings to ye Jareth, I have a gift for you." The Elfin king Alberich bowed low, relations had always been good between the two realms, leading to the marriage of Anastasia to one of the lords of a local province, an arrangement Anastasia had not been particularly content with, in an expression of her chagrin with the situation, she had locked herself in her chambers and refused to leave them for ten years, when she finally emerged stating, 'I got bored.'

"A gift from you is sure to be a worthy one, Uncle." Jareth had always referred to him as Uncle, as a term of endearment, just as close friends were 'cousin' though Jareth had little opportunity to exercise this term.

"My younger daughter, Grimelda!" Alberich reached his hand out for that of his daughter, Jareth could see why the poor girl was being given as a gift, no man would pay for such a wife. She was possessed of blotchy flaking skin, straggly hair and an unpleasant demeanor and manner. Now, to refuse a gift is a great insult, gifts has to be accepted unless you are possessed with very sound reasoning, improvising, Jareth stated hastily yet with eloquently as is expected from a man of his standing:

"I am greatly honored and awed by your generosity, bountiful Alberich, it is with deep regret I must inform you that I am already bound to another in matrimony, but I would be happy to establish your fair daughter with a gentleman of good background and repute from my own lands."_ Thank Scrabbelscruff, I managed to escape that one, I despise such awkwardness. _After a few more words, and a gaze of crushing disappointment from Alberich, they made their leave and retreated to the busy hub of the floor. There was a whole series of guests that followed, taking hours of his time, many a lady would smile alluring, made thinly veiled allusions to intimacy, which Jareth would politely disregard and reward with a slight upturn of his lips. Before Sarah, he would take such women to his bed, no longer, the allusions and innuendo continued, but went no further.

After the tedious introductions reached their end, the dancing commenced fully, it was customary for Jareth to dance with his sisters foremost before other ladies of court, and so he dance with each in succession, with grace and competency but all moves were made from a long stifled sense of duty, his eyes were ever watchful for the step of another. Dancing with Olga is not dissimilar to waltzing with a piece of stiff and stubborn cardboard, cardboard that whispers a torrent of nauseatingly dull political advice. Tatyana was little better, though a dance with her is like dancing with an unsmiling matron of honor, an old maid as opposed to a lady still in the flush of her youth. Anastasia could not be more different from the others, she danced energetically, almost overpoweringly, she lacked all sense of grace or form, but got far more pleasure from the twirls and steps than either elder sister. Maria was by far the most competent, dancing pleasantly using the steps that she had been taught – she remembered well, and to dance with her was a pleasure.

After his sisters, Jareth danced with the other ladies who lined to take his hand, all were stunningly beautiful, and all enamored by his charm and handsome features. They would spin round with him gazing enraptured into his eyes lusting for his love, all were married, but nearly all were loose open marriages that required no commitment from either partner, loveless marriages. Beneath the beauty and the glitter all led, sad, sad lives, living in a constant excess of glamor and intrigue to escape the devastating truth of their immortality. All left his embrace cold, broken, by his absolute sense of distance.

Puck would occasionally apparate by Jareth's side at intervals during the proceedings, once displacing a lady from his arms, resulting in a bizarre and gruesome pairing, the stunted malformed Puck with the elegant figure of Jareth, the Goblin King. "You have someone on your mind Jareth – a girl, ohh a pretty girl! Will it be in the reach of your boundless generosity to introduce this fair maiden to my sight?"

"No it is not, leave to torment another wretched soul, Puck." Puck with an almost insane energy, gave a deep exaggerated bow, dropping his head to the floor, before disappearing from view with a high pitched shriek.

After the first bout of dancing, when many had become heavily embroiled in the lures of liquor, and Puck was busily ravishing the elaborately laid out feast, it was time for a poetry reading. Jareth had chosen some earlier pieces to read out, mainly ones that dealt with 'happy' matters such as depression and sadness. Jareth's reasoning behind the choice of work was that he had access to a bottomless supply of words that rhymed with 'sad.' Here is a taster from the evening:

Life is rather depressing

Life is sort of sad

As your probably guessing

I am feeling kinda bad

One of the better (and the term is used loosely) examples of Jareth's skill is one of the scores written of Sarah, he had given up coming up with names for his many hundreds of compositions, so when reading the title, it was referred to as 'Poem 1334.' Included here are the first two stanzas of fourteen, though the general themes of the poem can be easily attained from the following excerpt:

I would liken thee to a summer's day

Though summer wouldst pale in comparison

I would state that your hair is like the midnight sky

But the sky is dim to compare

Your eyes, I would dare to say your eyes are like the moon

But the moon is so flat, so cold in contrast.

If any would dare to deny such contrasts

I would brand them a liar

(etc. etc...)

It was for Jareth's fortune that most of the guests were intoxicated at this point in the proceedings, if he had been an ordinary soul, he would have been likely to be pelted with oranges and rotting, fermenting vegetables, but being a king, and a handsome one at that, he escaped such critique. His rhymes were greeted with polite spurts of clapping, though sly murmurs and jibes were audible to the attentive members of the audience.

It was after this and a greater portion of the congregation surrounding the figure of Jareth enthusing over his poetic skill had lost consciousness that the dancing resumed once more. It was now late into the night, many had taken to their chambers for privacy, to escape from the boiling overpowering atmosphere of the place. The musicians were busily strumming tirelessly in the distance, as Jareth stood inattentively with his sister Anastasia, who was busily enthusing over the merits of women in the socio-economic structure, "I've told you time and time again women are perfectly capable of accounting, Jareth? Jareth? Where are you going?" Anastasia and her exasperated spouse turned to Jareth who was staring transfixed at the door, enraptured by the vision of a lovely girl, gowned entirely in white.

* * *

Phew, another chapter, down. Once again, this one had to be split, it was getting too long. I've updated my profile with (provisional) titles and summaries for my stories now, so if you're interested, you can take a look ;).

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and in case your wondering the poetry is by me, and is mainly derivative of the kind of endlessly monotonous and dull romantic poems I had to study at school.

Anyway onwards to my reviewers!

**InuLvr7** - I'm really pleased your enjoying it! And your welcome for the explanation, History is one of my interests so it's nice to include some of it here. I'm also especially pleased you liked chapter 8, cos that was VERY experimental, a try out for the sequel really. You're right about chapter 10 being a filler, it was one of the chapter's I didn't really want to write, but had to to explain some things, this one was a lot more fun!

**Irresistible Malaria – **Hi, I'm glad you liked the story, and the sisters, there were twelve sisters, but I had seven of them die in the first chapter (mean me!) which leaves me with the far more manageable number of four (one didn't come.) As for chapter 8, I know what you mean about it being solemn, if I gave the chapters name that one would be called 'ventures in prose' as it's basically me trying out the things that my teachers (try) to teach me in English! Hope you like this chapter!

Please, please review everyone! All reviews are very much appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

She just stood, as if a rabbit caught in the glare, lost in his eyes. Jareth stared back at her, his face solemn and sure, both stood taking the sight of the other in. Sarah confused, as if struggling to accept the madness and irregularity surrounding her, the men and their ladies cavorting amongst the cushions, the poisoned talk, the drapes and the whole richness of the room. He only had eyes for her, she overpowered all else, he was ignorant to the hustle and chatter engulfing the room, basking in the pleasure of her familiarity with him. He disappeared before her, he needed time.

Jareth was already threading through the crowds, keeping a constant watch on every single of her steps, she was searching for someone, searching for_ him_. Her powdered face lifting and turning anxiously, repeatedly. She received intrigued leers and stares from the masked dancers that consumed the space around her, jostling and grasping at her figure. Jareth would occasionally be lured into a dance with an ever hopeful lady, but he could have been dancing with air, he payed no care for the masked gaze lost in adoration, he was straining his head to catch a sight of Sarah. Poor frightened, confused, disorientated Sarah. He wished to take a long look at the girl before daring to make an approach, she was so _strange_, like none she had ever seen before, a bizarre clash of innocence and evil. Her eyes were wide, exhibiting a totally lack of worldliness, but her actions, the actions he now knew she would carry though – a mark of evil. And how she fascinated him with it.

The tailor had done his job well, the dress had been worth every crown, she shone like a beacon in a midnight sky, the simplicity yet extravagance of the gown drew the attention and envy of all – the ladies wished to appear just as she did, to be every bit as beautiful, with her wide innocent eyes and raven hair. It well suited her with it's exaggerated sleeves and full skirt, he could see her glancing down at herself, as if hardly able to comprehend the change. There was an awkwardness in her movements – but such awkwardness could easily be made part of a long distant past.

Jareth was feeling light-headed, he was laughing, participating in gossip to which he did not listen, his head overflowing with the plans for the time ahead. All the time, his sisters stood in the sidelines, scrutinising each of his steps.

They worried for him, Anastasia tried to force the crowds to break to speak with him, to try and reclaim him from the misty eyed haze, but to no avail. He was apparating and disapparating through the crowds at will, all to get a closer look at the girl._ He's such a donkey. Loosing all sense over a girl! No good will come from this_. She turned back to her wine, in acceptance of her defeat, to draw her own husband back from the embrace of another.

"She's too young for you," Jareth's sister Olga warned, giving him a sidelong glance, he made no effort to listen, even smiling mockingly, before continuing on, mingling with the crowds. Leaving his sister glaring at the vacuum he had occupied just moments before. Olga sighed, he, or anybody else for that matter took her into consideration, just because she happened to be the only sensible one amongst a brood endowed with flighty impracticality. She remembered well a time when Jareth had been but a child himself, a performing troupe had (unwisely) been passing through the Goblin City, and one of them could a perform a feat – a simple trifle in actuality, of producing a rabbit from a silk lined top hat. For some reason, unknown to all, Jareth was transfixed when it, he had never seen anything well, to express it crudely, remotely _cute_ or _sweet_ before, and it had fascinated him. He had not stopped badgering and pressing his mother until she granted the performer a hefty sum for the creature, who was promptly presented to Jareth. For Jareth was never denied anything. He was well pleased, but had no understanding of care for the creature, it had died days after being trusted to his care. Olga still remembered his tears.

_What I would give to know how she thinks of me!_ Now Jareth could read minds, but not minds that did not yet exist. The most accurate description of Sarah's existence would be as a ghost – a ghost of time yet to come. In Sarah's own reality she was engulfed in the warm familiarity's of her room, scouring the pages of the play, repeating the lines over and over, the ball did not exist for her. Not yet.

All in the room danced on, for an hour or more. Sarah constantly winding her way through the labyrinthine formations of crudely masked participants in the spectacle. She was distressed now, still searching for him, Jareth, who was in a bizarre twisted way her only anchor to reality, for this ghost Sarah knew Jareth, and had enough sense to know if anything in the place was real – he was.

Puck caught sight of her dark head bobbing through the crowds, took notice of her handsome features, and rapidly approached her, "You are remarkably beautiful m'lady, would you care for a dance?" He smiled with as much charm as such a face as his could manage, Sarah mumbled a rejection, repulsed by him and pulled away, but he chased after her, grasping at her flesh. Jareth was watching it all, face fuming with fury, it was time to act, if he was going to approach Sarah – it would be now.

She had just lost her pursuer, and was standing lost and so, so lonely in the midst of the throng, it was a ghastly experience, humiliating, degenerating. Then she caught sight of him, Jareth viewing her intently with the heads of two stunningly beautifully women resting on his shoulders, he shook them off, and came to her. Taking her in his arms, leading her in the dance.

He could hardly believe she was real, he could _feel_ her, she was as real as anything else known to him, how he wished to keep her here, he knew he would have to learn patience – days now, he had waited countless years. He would have to learn to cope with the few remaining days. They spun around, him caught up in the sheer exhilaration of her in his arms, her eyes focused on his, with no eyes for another. His hand gripped hold of her waist, tightly, if Sarah had not been only a half-presence, had not been engulfed by the turmoil of all surrounding her, she would have whimpered from the pain of his caress. All eyes were on them, the lustful leers from the men, Puck being among them, the jealous gazes from all those who saw her as usurping their place, the sisters who sighed with futile exasperation as one.

She amused him, with her funny words, her confusion and overwhelming sense of disorientation. He could well see there was more to this girl, far more, than her beauty and her effortless ability to intrigue. She would many a time question him, though with an air suggestive to her feeling foolish as to the soundness of questioning the smooth course of her very own fairytale.

He was being open with her, making no effort to disguise his ecstasy, a sure smile never left his face. His face held no mask to her, all could see the extent of his infatuation with her. They whirled about for hours more, slow and sure in their steps. Jareth knew it would tax her to perform any more complex routines, so they remained drifting serenely about the scape, never ceasing, his hand never leaving hers, too afraid to risk her leaving his arms.

She was slowing, he looked into her eyes, she was tiring, she looked so weak, so frail to him, as if a perfect porcelain statue teetering on the edge of shattering into oblivion. He stopped, pausing her, gripping her more tightly in his arms than ever before, "Trust in me," she looked unsure, scared even, but gave a nod to her ascent. Blindly trusting to him, the lamb to the wolf. Now was the time, it just felt so right, for him to claim her as his, he leaned forward to kiss her. Just as the clock began to strike the thirteenth hour, each long weighty chime falling heavy in the air.

Something changed her, at that moment, as if she was recollecting something of great importance, more important than all else in her little world, more important than him. He continued to seek out her lips, he would not give up on her now, but she struggled, breaking free from him, running to the door before fading, shattering even, as if glass dropped to the floor.

He stood still in his disbelief as the room was struck cold. Jareth's figure highlighted and framed by his distance from the crowd. By the fact he was totally alone.

* * *

I got this chapter written very quickly, probably because the Jareth/Sarah relationship is the area of the story I'm most interested in, I kinda want to read what I write!

Important note, this is the first chapter I've had a beta for, so many thanks go to Ergott, who is helping me overcome the scourge of mis-use of the word 'of' (me and grammar do not get along very well!)

Hopefully it's suitably different from the scene in the book and the move to be interesting, I'd love to know if you think I've made it 'interesting' enough! And I'm sorry for the overwhelming seriousness of this, I promise I'll try and make the next chapter a bit more light-hearted!

Anyway, onto my reviewers:

InuLvr7 Hello again! I'm really glad you enjoyed that last chapter, and that your looking forward to the sequels, I think I'll be relieved to move onto something fresh!

Irresistible Malaria I'm pleased to hear you like Puck! He was fun to write, as you say, he's very reckless! Hope you like my writing of Sarah, as you can tell this is more about Jareth and co's views on events to make it suitably different from the film, but I have amazingly introduced Sarah to Jareth. It was great fun to write, I've probably made her a bit weak, but she seemed very, very lost in the scene in the film, so that's what I'm playing on here. Anyway, enjoy!

Please, please review everyone! I'm eternally grateful for all of them!


	13. Chapter 13

He had abandoned the party after Sarah had fled, retreating to his room. Anastasia had chased after him, but could hear nothing. This was understandable as the room was vacant, if Sarah would not stay with him, he would go to her. The guests had been leaving since dawn, gossip rife in the air, all questioning the identity of the dark haired girl, ridiculing Jareth's fixation with her. Among the departing had been Jareth's (former) magician, who being unable to convince any of the wildly drunken guests at the party to bring him into their employ, had successfully stowed himself in the luggage compartment of Puck's carriage. Puck's carriage can be likened to a Swiss army knife, generally redundant and extremely nasty. For example, the luggage compartment was equip with an abundance of four inch razor sharp spikes. The magicians' journey was consequently not the most comfortable of transitions, it was also to be his last.

"I don't trust you Jareth," to whom the warning was addressed stood skulking around the vicinity of the stables, absently petting the sleek coats of the horses that had been left for him as presents from Maria. Olga's carriage prepared to pull out as she chided him.

"Do not trust me over what sister?" He did not meet her eyes, his head was cast down.

"I don't trust _you _over anything any more, least of all that girl. Forget her Jareth, it is clear to all that you are...infatuated with her, but you know the rules, you can never keep her here, she is not a child, cannot be changed into one of your _grotesques_, nor is she yet an adult." Jareth glared at her, returning to his horses, clicking his tongue and whispering in their ears. _Totally useless at communication, always has been, I've had more stimulating conversations with my husband for the love of Scrabbelscruff. I remember when he use to throw bricks at people to gain attention. _Olga rolled her eyes at the memory, those bricks had _hurt._ He had been just as artful a shot as he was presently possessed with a skill in utilising his booted feet as offensive weapons.

"I wish you goodbye sister," he muttered the pleasantry morosely, still turned away from her. Olga was in no mood to vie for his attention, so entered her carriage.

"The same feeling is returned to you. I will speak one more time with you Jareth, to say this – remember the rules, you may have few boundaries Jareth, but take heed of the ones you full well know of." She turned to her husband, "Gerald! My, have you had nothing to occupy yourself with these past days? Go to the cab this instant, we have a great distance to cover, it may put your miserable vapid existence to some worldly use to direct us homeward." The carriage joltingly left the enclosure. With Gerald perched precariously on the driver's seat, periodically being sent several feet into the air from the dent ridden turf. Jareth had never set eyes on his brother-in-law before, he felt great pity for him, he looked something like a vaguely elfin chartered accountant. He had spectacles perched on a stubby little nose, squinty eyes and an expression of constant anxiety, as if living in constant fear of the next word from Olga. It made him give a pleasant laugh at the sight of him being thrown to the ground, to meet Olga's distant frustrated screams, the last laugh Jareth would have for a long while.

* * *

Jareth had been troubled by Sarah's departure. He had never felt such overwhelming loss, not even at the death of the greater portion of his family. It felt as if something he could not place had died within him. Jareth had known for always that the projection of his beloved would have to pass, to move on, to keep with the proper order of time. But not in such a heart tearing manner. For her to flee from him, as if he was a _monster_, he could not comprehend the look in her eyes as the clock struck the hours, such a distant factor to him, so dear to her. It is of note that Jareth was naturally of an extremely jealous disposition, all his brother and string of sisters had – he would wish to posses it. And the sharpened looks and the apocalyptic actions Jareth would carry through if not subsided to created such terror that his jealously and little desires were more often that not entertained. And so consequently Jareth was rabidly jealous of a clock. As I am sure you can tell, Jareth had issues.

He had visited her that night, it had been early evening in her world, and he had sat poised on the branch hanging outside her window, watching the concentration that lined her brow as she read the last few lines from the play over and over, whilst a piece of homework lay unfinished, pushed to the side. He noted little details of her, the smile on her face when she successfully recounted a line, the wistful look as she gazed at the photos tucked into the frame of her dresser, creased from being handled countless times. He wished for her to look at _him_ in such a way. He would shred the photos to ribbons before her to attain such a gaze from her, for her to see him as worthy as the figures the black and white snaps held still.

He had fortune to thank for her possessing the book. It was rare now, the many thousands of copies first printed hundreds of years in the past at the order of an ancient descendant had diminished to so few. Humans were so careless, lives being riddled with fires, deaths, mistakes. Their whole _lives_ were comedies of errors. He could tell the mere fact she owned a copy was a sign that she was _meant_ to be his, the words were dying, and she would die with them, unless she came to him. Something Jareth was going to ensure was to happen – what girl would refuse an offer of immortality? _She just never understood before, I will soon explain to her the magnitude of her fortune._

He would need to get the Peach to her through some means, as it was only that that would ensure Sarah would share in the same experience that had both delighted and tortured him. If he was to take the child from her – she was in no position to trust to him. So it was Hoggle (who Jareth consistently referred to as Hogwit) who Jareth put into his employ to befriend the girl, to lead her astray, to tempt her, to play serpent if you will. The plans were formulating, he could not keep her in his lands against her will, her youth and the many endlessly complicated laws formulated aeons ago, meant that. But if she wished it, she _could _stay, and it was Jareth's plan to make sure that she would stay, she would leave her little doll's house behind her, to come to him. She would want him above all else.

The next few days were generally taken by the final preparations surrounding the girl's arrival, as well as other matters. The day after the party, Jareth received a telegram from his cousin Sophia from whom he had been cut off for an age. Here is how it read, excluding the tears and the mud and beer stains the resulted from the employ of an untrustworthy messenger:

_Jareth_

_I know what you are planning to do. And I think you're a total moose for it. Anastasia told me of the party Jareth, you need to stop being so irresponsible!!! Stop things now before they get out of hand, you know you can never keep her. _

_Why won't you marry a normal girl, you know full well Tillia of Floria is very, very available, and she has a great big dowry to boot. I don't know about you Jareth, but I don't see your silly little doll as coming equip with a dowry that equates to four castles, seven hundred horses and the Florian crown jewels._

_You have a kingdom to care for Jareth, your subjects rely on you, look on you as their leader, their father figure if you will. Surely that is more important than this girl? _

_And don't retort stating that you have no common features with a Goblin Jareth – you know exactly what I mean. So refrain from meanness!_

_I would dearly like to speak with you soon cousin, peace!_

_Sophia_

_P.S. Terence sends his best regards._

_P.S.S. So do the horses in the stables, especially Blackie (remember him?)_

Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. She was always amusing when attempting to be responsible. He would pay her no heed, take not her words into account. The telegram would remain unanswered. She really thought the promise of great riches (which for Sophia, constituted vast numbers of horses) would lure him from Sarah? She stood just as much chance as drawing a donkey from the promise of a fat juicy carrot through means of a rubber bone. And even without all of Sarah's fine and bountiful qualities entering the equation – Jareth would not touch Tillia of Floria with a ten yard long barge pole. They had been introduced once, at a extremely dull costume party hosted by her father, and it was clear to all her face was riddle with pock marks, which gave the poor girl the general façade of a spotted handkerchief.

* * *

Jareth had, after over a thousand years finally discovered a use for his ignorant, half-wit subjects, he hand picked a gaggle of those who were among the least inebriated and pea-brained of his lot to keep watch over her room. Goblins were useful for this task, being so small, and so hopelessly insignificant, the laws of time and space seemed to tolerate them as a hopeless, irritating anomaly, something like head lice. So they had access to her room, they would sometimes pilfer some of her belongings, odd socks, childish storybooks with torn pages, crayons, and other such trifles the like of which the Goblin had never sighted before. The fragemnts of a childhood the likes of which they had never had chance to know.

After many days of boredom, watching Sarah crown herself with flimsy paper hats, pull curtains about her figure, and strut about the room as if already crowned, their watch reached it's climax. She had ran fuming to her room, all the time all watching her intently, waiting for her to speak the words that Jareth had ingrained in their flimsy temporal memories She had noted the disappearance of a favoured teddy, a ploy formulated by the Goblins to speed up proceedings to allow for their return to the warm comfort of the ale barrel. And it appeared to be working, she ran, shrieking like a Banshee to her parent's chamber, where sure enough the knitted toy lay close to the small child, who was attired in the kind of embarrassing red and white striped night clothes that parents falsely believe look 'cute.' She had chided the child who understood not a word she spoke, told him of the story that was outside of her knowledge so hopelessly real, and then, she said it, or at least, came close:

"Goblin King! Goblin King! Wherever you may be take this child of mine far away from me!" She had pulled a ridiculous knitted cap over her hair – she looked silly, and to the Goblins, sounded as if a total imbecile. The child was held aloof before her, gurgled, amused by her theatrical frenzy.

"Where did she learn that rubbish?" Gruber, sighed his annoyance, as the girl turned quiet, replacing the child in the confines of his crib as he began to emit an uncontrollable wail, moving to the door.

"I do wish the Goblins would come and take you away," she paused, as if reluctant to speak the rest of the words she knew so well, the Goblins held their breath as a single stifled whole, "right now."

It was with the speaking of those two simple little words, that all hell broke loose.

* * *

Phew I've finally got there! The end is in sight, only two chapters left now, thank Scrabblescruff! I had better warn you now that it is around the time the next chapter is due I have my exams, so if it's delayed by a day or two, that's the reason! Anyway I hope everyone enjoys this, and once again many thanks to my beta Ergott, onto my reviewers:

**InuLvr7** I'm glad you liked it, and I like your analogy, very Sarah! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Irresistable Malaria** I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I feel exactly the same about jealousy over Sarah, I'd love to have that dress, who cares what's in fashion ten or something years in the future - when I get married I want that dress!

And as usual, the plea for reviews, review, review, review :)!


	14. Chapter 14

Lightening sliced through the sky with a crack, wind buffeted the windows, thunder could be heard falling heavy in the air. She watched as the locks strained, buckling against the force of the supernatural. Sarah was frantic, searching for the baby who had been safely confined in his cot just moments before. She was terror stricken by the sly sniggers and cackles emanating from the Goblins positioned, well-hidden, about the room.

The windows could no longer bear the pressure, bursting open. Jareth appeared to Sarah for the first time, her eyes were wide with the impossibility of her dreams and fantasies taking on a terrifying reality of their own. Now, if Sarah had had any foresight she would have been sensible, and taken a quick snap of Jareth to send off to _Villain Monthly_ as an exemplar study of how to dress with intent to induce terror and awe. Instead Sarah just stood, arms held aloft shielding her face – as if anticipating some horrendous attack. She was totally overcome by his presence, almost lost for words.

Jareth would have dearly liked to end it there, to confess his love for her, as he found the whole business of baby snatching a troublesome nuisance, but he knew the rules. And was painfully aware of the fact he must adhere to them. He would have to go through the same stiflingly dull routine with her once more, only the presence of Sarah would make the experience far from plain. He was fascinated by her, could hardly let his eyes leave hers, desperately anticipating her response to him.

"You're him aren't you? The Goblin King." Jareth was under strain to stop himself rolling his eyes at her unanticipated simplicity._ Who does she believe I to be? Her fairy Godmother?_

"What's said is said," Jareth proceeded with the usual routine, it was had to retain such composure before the girl who had became the driving force within him for the past age of his life.

"I've brought you a gift," He was weakened by her eyes, manipulated by them, he felt close to succumbing to her wishes, responding to her pleas, returning the child home with no trial. And so he offered her the chance to cut out all the ridiculous fuss, forget the baby, forget all but him, for that was most clearly her dream, and the crystal was possessed of the power to make ones dream apparent. And then all it would take was for him to realise them for her. But she turned him down, politely, reasonably, but she _rejected_ him. The Goblins looked on, as the last ounce of patience was lost from him.

"Don't defy me." He had thrown a snake at her. Yes, a snake. Most men seeking the favour of the one to whom they are devoted by offering boxes of ribboned chocolates or lying flourishing bouquets at their feet. Some force reams of sickening poetry into their hands, far more ply their objects of affection with wine and masking words, Jareth on the over hand was offering a poisonous snake. It is this that probably most clearly exemplified how little he knew or understood of Sarah's world, in his land, girls and women were treated more as commodities, as pretty adornments to impress and inspire envy. To defy Jareth, in his eyes, warranted such a show of displeasure.

She gave a little scream, that cut through him, but could not prevent a twisted smile forming on his face from her distress, and then they proceeded with the routine once more. And he showed her the wide expanse of the Labyrinth, she was clearly awed by it at first sight, but this soon turned to hopeless optimism, her gaping mouth stating "it doesn't look too far," he took great pleasure in leaning close to her, so she could feel his warm breath on her neck, murmuring, "it's further than you think." He informed her of her brother's fate if she were too fail, something Jareth was going to ensure was made a certainty, before fading away before her captive eyes.

* * *

Jareth was more obsessive over the crystal than ever before now, rarely letting his eyes leave the form of the girl trapped within his strictly dictated boundaries. With one exception who warranted his attention, the child, Toby he was called, he was a happy infant. Jareth was glad he would have no reason to transform him into a Goblin, it was not on form to turn one's future brother-in-law into a scabby grotesque. He was instead bouncing him on his knee, singing him ditty's sung to him as a child by his mother with his pleasant voice, before setting him down so he could amuse himself with the Goblins, just as he had done so many times as a child. Toby was bemused, a little intimidated at first by the foreign nature of the Goblin's appearance, their exaggerated features, slurring speech, but he soon accepted them as play fellows, crawling about merrily with them, exploring every nook and cranny of the room.

Lasander meanwhile, was straining his ghostly head over his brother's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the girl who so consumed him. When he saw her face, her dark hair, rosy cheeks, wide innocent eyes, he suddenly hit a realisation as to the reason behind Jareth's fascination. _It's all beginning to make a horrible sense. _Lasander cast his mind back to the memory of the little dark haired girl who Jareth had grown so attached to as a child. They only had a day together, less than that, but thirteen hours, but by the end of that time he had grown an impossible devotion to her. A devotion that had needed to be broken. None could have foreseen what a profound effect it would have on his character. All the women in Jareth's life had been fair of hair, cold and distant, narrow eyed, but the girl, Isobel she had been called, had been so _warm_, so different, so loving. Lasander shook off the troublesome memory, returning to the crystal, where the girl was conversing with a vivid blue worm, who happened to speak with a strong cockney accent.

Jareth had taken to pacing the confines of his castle, having left the throne room. The crystal was still ever present in his palm, he briefly passed by the entrance to the Escher room, he had a horrible feeling he may have to enter the dizzying structure once more. He held a great disgust for the room, it brought back painful, harrowing memories that had him wake in the night in a cold sweat, eyes bulging, reliving moments so long past as if yesterday. He hoped she would fail to get that far, wished for it above all else at that moment in time. But if she was the Sarah who he so believed in and admired – she would put every effort into reaching him and his castle. Just as much effort as he would put into keeping her there.

"Your extremity!" A Goblin came scurrying over, tugging at his cloak, Jareth barked at him to continue, "the girl, she's reached the Oubliette!"

"What!" Jareth swept with urgency back to the throne room, settling in the throne, the Goblins crowded in a cluster about him, murmuring with the excitement of being able to observe the significant progress of the challenger, "she shouldn't have got this far," a frown creased his brow, he would need to take action. His lessons in disguise were to find themselves a use.

* * *

He watched them both as they came walking down the corridor placidly, following the glittering path of his crystal with fascination, he sat peering at them through his lowered cap, this disguise was particularly accomplished, he was unrecognisable to himself even as he had paraded himself in front of his mirror.

Jareth waited till they were close enough to take in the full impact of his visage, he rose, discarding the beggar's guise, revealing himself in all his finery, Sarah gave a little gasp, and Hoggle a groan.

_What in the name of Goblin-kind is Hoggle doing, helping her. _"Do you happen to be helping this girl Hedgewart?" He arched a fear inducing eyebrow, Hoggle shuddered, head spinning with the threats Jareth had directed at him before Sarah's arrival, should he fail or disobey. Threats too gruesome and blood curdling to commit to paper. Jareth's jealousy was rising once more, any rival, inhabiting any form, that showed the potential to usurp his place in her affections – needed to be vanquished.

"Hogwart." Sarah corrected him is a rush. _My, so impertinent, this girl will need to be taught it is not proper to counter one's ruler. _Her boldness pleased him, a sign of a flowering character, some submission along with a little liveliness was needed to make a worthwhile union, to retain the magic in what began as a sudden overpowering rush of love.

After supplementing the previously delivered threats with ones of far greater magnitude (suspension over the bog is an example) he turned his attention to Sarah, smiling wickedly. Propping a hand against the wall, so as to lean toward her, he smiled slightly, she was the source of such amusement to him. Jareth had long been skilled in the art of intimidation, and it was close to working. "And you Sarah, how are you enjoying my Labyrinth?"

Sarah proved herself something of a fool with her answer. Declaring that a mindbogglingly complicated, otherworldly labyrinth is 'a piece of cake' is not a wise answer when the figure of Jareth is looming over one. Still, Jareth could easily mould her ignorance and absolute naivety to his advantage, he conjured an image of a clock to the wall, twisting the hands around, loosing hours from her time. She protested with her signature cry, "It's not fair!" She looked disbelieving as the odds mounted yet more against her chance at victory. He felt a vague sadness as his confidence in her failure increased, he was not sure of the reason for his melancholy. It made him snappish, his temperament brittle and yet more transient than ever before.

"You speak those words so often, I speculate as to what your basis for comparison is." He was frustrated by certain repetitive aspects of her nature, so like a child still, totally lacking any significant groundings of maturity. He had to place hope in the idea that the experience of the Labyrinth would build a strong and capable character within her pretty mask. He decided to liven up the smooth course of Sarah's journey, and thrust one his crystals down the corridor, where it manipulated it's form to that of the cleaners that maintained the passages of the Labyrinth, blades rotating, splitting the air. Jareth disappeared to the sound of exclamations and fearful shrieks.

* * *

Firstly of all, I am going to apoligise profusely for the delay. Real life has got in the way of my writing, but luckily it is finished, beta tested (thanks Ergott!), and ready for your reading pleasure now. This is the penultimate chapter, only one more to go now! Hopefully I've made this sutiably interesting away from the movie, I'd love to know what you think, or if you have any questions, so please review!

Onto my reviewers:

**Irresistable Malaria** - Yep, Sarah has stuck her foot right in it now. I think she might come to regret it with time, I most certainly would not (chance to meet all powerful Goblin King wow (though possibly slightly imtimidating)!)

**InuLvr7 **- I'm glad you loved it :D! I hope you like this chapter!

I will put every effort into uploading the next chapter on time (Sunday) and then I will begin dealing with Life after Labyrinth (among other things)...


	15. Chapter 15

He watched as they ran desperately down the course of the blind path. They rattled and shook the barrier between them and safety furiously, the desperation driving them. They turned their attention to a side wall, as the cleaners came close, dangerously close, Jareth relented, and with a flick of the wrist the wall fell forward, allowing her her freedom. Freedom for the moment.

* * *

Jareth soon returned to his signature motion – pacing and stalking the shadowy halls with a worrying intensity. He was thinking. Jareth was a brash man, often quite spontaneous, he rarely planned anything, but when he did he planned events to the last detail, it was in the hope that they would run smoothly and within his wishes. Though of course with Sarah, this was not to be. S_he_ always managed to overcome his obstacles, untangle his riddles - it was all most frustrating.

And Hoggle he was another troublesome nuisance, a spanner in the works so to speak. Amazingly, the girl seemed to like him. Incredible. She called him 'my friend,' it made his ears burn to hear her refer to him through such endearments, but despite this she teased him merrily, snatching his cluster of trinkets from him, holding them just out of his reach. Quite cruel really, this girl was more akin to him than she would like to accept. The brave little heroine showing common features to the villain, my how alien in contrast to Sarah's neat little vision of how the story should go. _She will learn to accept my cruelty, learn to love me for it._

They had came across the Wiseman now, _doddery old fool_. Jareth had already considered courses of action if he deviated from his commands not to aid her, many terrible and excruciating reprimands had been planned in great detail in his minds eye. And so Jareth was rightly pleased when the figure when he spoke incoherently, spouting useless quotations and nonsensical advice, and yet she was grateful towards him. She displayed courtesy to the man, even gave him a ring as toll, still she would soon have another, far superior, to replace such a petty trifle.

* * *

Meanwhile Lasander was trying to speak with a Goblin, who sat slumped against a wall, burping nauseatingly at intervals, happily rubbing his full belly with content. "_Look, can – you – hear – me? Hel – lo? I – need – you – to – take – a - message – to – my - brother. DO – YOU – UNDERSTAND?" _Lasander's ghostly echoes fell on inattentive ears, he leant against the wall in his frustration, and promptly fell through, into the privy. Lasander would have to work out some other way of communicating with Jareth – before it all went wrong. Terribly wrong.

* * *

Jareth smiled slightly as she aided the beast down from his chains, her compassion and charity where pleasing to him. A sign of her feminine character, true makings of a queen. His mother had possessed such qualities, grace, kindness, compassion. She had shown them in excess to him, he remembered the cuddles and their closeness fondly, she'd been the only one to truly love him. He had been sure in his father's hatred for him, his brother's indifference, his sisters distance. Just as sure as he had been of his mother's love, it had been her death that had disturbed him most of all, she'd been the only one to warrant tears from his unyielding eyes.

Meanwhile, he spied his chance to introduce the prospect of splendour and glory to Sarah through the ball, she would see what it truly meant to be by his side. She would understand what she had to gain, just how much he was offering her. Hoggle and her had parted company, the fearful coward having fled from her side at the prospect of peril. Hoggle's cowardice was to be of good use to him, Jareth left for the area of the Labyrinth Hoggle was occupying, mind toying with just how many demeaning 'variations' of Hoggle he could utilise in their exchange.

Hoggle heard Sarah's distant cries, and made to race to her, he wasn't cowardly enough not to help Sarah when she was so desperately in need, "I'm coming Sarah!"

"Well, if it isn't you, and where might you be going," the eyebrow was raised again. Hoggle's body convulsed in an all too familiar gesture. He muttered some feeble excuse as to continuing to lead the girl astray, as if that were the true reason for his sudden burst of chivalry. Jareth saw things differently, he knew of the bond between them. And hated it with a fervent passion. "For a moment I thought you were running to help her. But after my warnings, wouldn't that be stupid?" Jareth could easily lead a master class in the art of patronisation.

"You bet it would!" _Faceless little cretin. _Was the main impulse that raced through his mind as Hoggle nodded fervently, agreeing to every word Jareth let drip from his lips.

"Poor Hoghead." Hoggle corrected his name, Jareth ignored him merrily, commenting on the loss of the jewels he had marked earlier, before raising the subject of the peach. He threw a crystal to Hoggle's cupped hands, when the Dwarf looked upon it, it had changed to be a peach. A delightful thing, brilliantly hued, it was a thing of great beauty, but Hoggle noted none of it's outwardly appearance. He knew Jareth too well to trust in that.

"What is it?" He looked at with grave concern, before looking up at Jareth to try and strain truth from his eyes.

"It's a present," was his fast retort. _A present of far greater magnitude than your pea sized brain could handle._

"I won't do nothin' to harm her!" Hobble was actually displaying a positive characteristic. True bravery. Stunning.

"Come, come Hogbrain! I'm surprised at you, loosing your head over a girl!" His surprise was genuine, the concept of Hoggle showing feeling towards anyone, was gob-smacking. _Such a a pity he had to choose Sarah of all. _He was of course fast to deny it, Jareth took no denials however. "You don't think a young girl could like a repulsive little scab like you, do you?" Hoggle winced from the hurtful words, looked lost, unrooted. Jareth knew that she liked him, knew it all too well, but it could only please him to plant suspicion and distrust within Higgle, the name by which he thought of him.

"She said we was..."

"Friends? Bosom companions? Friends?" He said the word with a special venom he reserved for such endearments. "You'll give her that Hoggle, or I'll tip you straight into the Bog." Hoggle nodded desperately, he had very little choice with such a threat directed his way, "and Hoggle, if she ever kisses you, I'll turn you into a prince." The conviction with which he said it was striking, he should have been in vaudeville.

"Y-you will?"

"Prince of the Land of Stench!" Jareth laughed pleasantly to himself as he disappeared, with Hoggle cringing slightly. Whether it was due to the weighty guilt that lay heavy in his palm, or the utter bad taste of Jareth's joke, is debatable.

* * *

The girl had got herself in _such_ a mess. She was with the fireys, who were endowing her with the fear of God, pulling apart various body parts with eerie ease. Hoggle had better get there quick before the bizarre creatures took it upon themselves to attempt to detach_ her _limbs. Which would of cause be somewhat more problematic, however, if events took such a course, he would have to intervene.

The baby had toddled off, curiously teetering over the dais on the throne. Dangerously so. Jareth, wanting to prevent the child being mortally injured, stood sighing and lifted the baby up, and sat him on his knee to sing to him once more. His song voice had a soothing effect on the babe, who rubbing his eyes, yawning slightly, fell to a cosy sleep. Jareth rarely bothered with the lost children, would play with them if he had the time, as he found them somewhat endearing, but for him to have time in the past was a most rare thing. Toby was different to most children though, he was Sarah's brother, that alone warranted his attention. By the time he had passed the custody of the child to one of his more reliable attendants, he spied the crystal once more, wherein Sarah had made astonishing progress. She, Hogwit and the beast had made company with the little fox creature who had so frustrated him before. Still, he appeared to be doing well in delaying their progress, going through the motions of ridiculously outdated protocol._ He most be from an old time, before my grandfather possibly? Such an archaic creature!_

It took not long for the girl to outwit him, Jareth was well pleased with the display of intelligence, superiority you could say. His heart paused as he saw a bridge fall from beneath her, but she was able to snatch at a branch and hung precariously, screaming, he could hear her, distantly from his window, he moved there, as if in the vain hope of sighting her. Eyes moving rapidly between the crystal and the wide scape of the Labyrinth. Her friends came in useful for once, the beast using his powerful bellow to summon rocks for her to settle upon, giving a rest to her aching limbs.

Hoggle, upon crossing the Bog, picked the peach from his pouch, toying with it, holding it testingly over the bubbling mixture of the bog, he prepared to ease his fingers loose. _I wouldn't do that if I were you_. Hoggle froze, cursing him, looking fearfully up as if expected to see Jareth himself looming over him. But no one was there._ For once, mind speak finds a use for itself._

Jareth was well pleased that Hoggle was know fully aware that it was going to be harder than such a simple action to rid him of his burden. He needed to complete his task to be free from it, he would be free from it's physical burden, but the resulting guilt would never escape him.

He was elated when Sarah took a bite from the tempting flesh of the fruit, hunger overcoming any sense of reason. _Silly girl, she can't escape me now, she's bound to me forever. _He sat on the ledge blowing crystals as bubbles through the skies, within them dancers swayed hypnotically, Sarah was entranced in her dizzied state, hand reaching out to them weakly before being lost in an enchanted sleep. He felt strangely solemn, subdued even, all because he knew how it would all have to break. It was tempting to him then, the chance to go and take her, all he would need to do would be to lock her in a room, till her time was gone. But that would break almost all the known rules laid down for him to abide by, and far more importantly, it would take all the fun and risk from the chase.

He stayed watching her for a long while more her time passing by with an excruciating slowness. _Just a while more, stay there Sarah. Stay within your dreams. You know that's where your safest, for you have me there._ He was called away from his vigil by the disappearance of the babe, it eventually became apparent that Toby had become lost. He had been frolicking with his Goblin friends, all of whom in their drunken state had been totally unaware of his presence, indeed he may have well as been a Goblin himself, already a member of their little gang. And then he had become lost from them, as he wandered through the castle's dust ridden neglected chambers.

Lasander was following the baby, he had little else with which to occupy his time, having passed over all hope, and resigned himself to the utter futility of existence. As far as choices go, following the brother of his own sibling's adored one was better than idly moaning and acting as an atmospheric addition to the 'dank dingy castle' theme. The baby crawled rapidly, as Jareth's frustrated calls could be heard in the background – he was now regretting his negligence. The baby stopped as he came to the nurseries. A long abandoned place, so draped in cobwebs, so grey from years without sighting the sun, but to a small baby – it was all enchanting. He began exploring the room, a exquisitely moulded rocking horse stood in one corner, Toby tapped it playfully, clouds of dust rose from it's back, leading to Toby emitting a little sneeze. Story books lay discarded in the corner, Toby picked them up and bit the pages as babies do, and finally, with a whole corner of the room to itself, stood a scale model of the Labyrinth itself. Toby sat down and clapped his little hands at the delight of it all, home held no such wonders for him, he may have teddies and mobiles but nothing such as _this_ had ever been sighted by him before. It was just large enough for a baby to squeeze through it's passages, something Toby did with great relish. He came across a figure discarded in a passage, lost in indefinitenesses you might say. Laughing, he picked it up and bit into the onyx statue, as you may discern, Toby _liked_ biting things.

"What have we here?" Jareth surveyed the scene, and could just make out the distinctive shape of Toby's red and white night-suit through the Labyrinth's walls, "you have a good nose for adventure little one, now come, it is time for us to go and see your sister." He bent down, and lifted Toby up, Toby stretched out his arms for the Labyrinth and began crying, but Jareth had no worry for such things now, too much time had already been wasted. It was time to check on Sarah's progress. Only an hour remained.

As he re-entered the throne room, all was in a state of anarchy. Goblins ran shrieking, donning battle armour backward, fetching ammunitions, sometimes even chickens, with which to load the cannons. "What's going on here!" Jareth's voice bellowed, stopping all in their steps.

"It's the girl!" A fear stricken Goblin screamed it out, the room turned to look at him, gulpingly, he continued. "The girl who ate the peach and forget everything, she's on her way to the castle!"

Jareth almost dropped Toby. A plethora of curses and profanities came into his mind, all of which are unfit for publication. "Stop her! Call out the guards! Hide the baby! She must be stopped," they all stood watching him, frozen to the spot by the ferocity in his tone, "DO SOMETHING!" They began scuttling about to their positions, remembering long assigned roles, "move, move you fools!" The odds had turned – in her favour. He was to make sure that all in his power would be done to stop her reaching the threshold to his castle, Despite everything, he could not let her win.

He stood with one booted foot poised on the ledge of a window, watching her progress, she was too close now for the crystal to retain it's once so dear purpose. He could hear her occasionally excitable shrieks and wails as the immense incompetence of his army resulted in her repeatedly being missed by their cannons and heavy artillery. The beast was her greatest aid, taking out dozens of Goblins with a single lazy swipe of his tail, it was clear that her luck was holding. He would need to go to the Escher room, prepare himself for their final confrontation.

He entered the recesses of the structure, practised some of the gravity defying trickery he had learnt to master, he would disorientate her, it may buy him some desperately valuable time. He passed what seemed like hours anticipating her, and when he heard her voice, so dangerously close and weirdly distorted by the environment, he knew he was as ready as he was ever going to be.

"I have been expecting you." Jareth could not result the lure of cliché.

"Where's Toby?"_ So very direct, no masking words, no decorum._

"He's safe. In my keeping." She followed the usual routine, declaring how she was to reclaim possession of her brother, words he dismissed to her vocally but feared desperately within him..

"You have understood nothing." The bitterness reeked from his tone, she was so _blind_ to him, so totally juvenile, had no comprehension of how he felt towards her. Was too overwhelmed by the glory of the quest to care, "you have answered none of the Labyrinth's riddles, you didn't even know what the questions were."

"If I've come to understand anything it's that you're just putting on a show of confidence. You're frightened Jareth." She knew him better than he had thought. _She may hold recognition of the presence of fear but clearly had no comprehension of the depth of it._ _She has no knowledge of just how much I stand to loose._

"So are you."

"Yes." She admitted to her fear, and it helped him retain at least a notion of power.

"You're cruel, Sarah. We are well matched, I need cruelty just as much as you need mine." If only she could understand the extent of her cruelty, how she was paining him with her innocence and naivety. Her utter lack of understanding.

Sarah sighted the babe then, veering dangerously close to the edge. She cried out his name loudly, forgetting the man ready to offer her everything. In Jareth's eyes, she was neglecting him. He followed her progress for a while, but it pained him when he passed close by her, for her to ignore him utterly, the feeling of abandonment was unbearable. The baby was crawling rapidly toward a window ledge, she cried out his name yet louder, the distress resonating about the room.

Toby stood, teetering close to the fall, attempting to stand on his wobbling little legs. Swaying dangerously. Sarah was directly above him, the only way was down for her. Jareth watched her, daring a vague smile of triumph. _The girl won't dare to take the jump, the fear of the harm will overpower her. _It was then that she closed her eyes – taking the leap.

* * *

He stood lurking in the shadows as she drifted down amongst the chaos, so light and ethereal, she could almost be a creature of enchantment herself if it was not for her ignorance. He knew this was his last chance. Things had long spiralled from his control. For the first time in his life, Jareth felt a total absence of power, he was weak, at her mercy.

He winced to hear her begin to recite the words. The words that so very few ever had a chance to utter. "Give me the child."

"I have been generous up till now, but I can be cruel." _If only I had a chance to show you the depth of my cruelty. I would make you cower, make you shiver, force you to your knees to beg for my forgiveness for the torment I am suffering._

The girl, the silly little child, stood, stony faced, asking him in what way he had been generous. He felt like grabbing hold of her and shaking the sense into her till her teeth rattled, but restrained himself, he could do no such harm to Sarah. Not yet. "Everything," his voice was a low growl, everything you wished for, it has been done. You asked that the child be taken, I took him. You cowered before me and in turn I was frightening." He motioned to the clock face, it was so very close, minutes till her time was gone, he had to stall her, prevent her progress, "I have reordered time, I have turned the world upside down, and I have done all for you!"

She continued the recitation, word perfect. Her face blank. Totally unmoved by his making plain the depth of his benevolence. He barked at her to stay back, he was loosing, loosing more terribly with each passing second. He was growing desperate, tempted her with he dreams once more, but she remained so cold. It was horrifying.

He spoke gently to her, close to her, crystal held out for her taking, as weak as any kicked kitten, "just fear me, love my and I will be your slave." _For always. For us to be always Sarah, that is all I ask, why can't you see it!_

She had reached the last line, still totally detached from him, but she was stumbling. Seconds remained, he held the crystal closer to her. All the thoughts, all the memories of the preparations and the pain building up to _this_. Was it all worth it? For Sarah to be so very cruel, he had been so unprepared for the reality of his Sarah. She was more wicked than he had ever dared to be. Her face suddenly glowed, showed a remnant of understanding, his face tightened in anticipation of her chosen path.

"You have no power over me!" He closed his eyes. Tight shut. The burning passion and the heat searing through him. He threw the crystal to the air, where it dispersed to a million irretrievable fragments, taking all remnants of life before Sarah with it in it's absolute destruction.

* * *

It's over. :Cries out yippee with relief: Life Before Sarah, and deadlines will now cease, for a time. It's such a relief, but hold no fear, I will return, after I've given me and my much put upon beta (as always, thanks Ergott!) a break. It's been great fun to do however, and I feel great having completed something thaat's so long!

I have two one shots already finished, and they will go live within the next few days, the diary of simplicity will also be continued in a few days, as I take a more 'relaxed' approach to that, I can give no definitive times when I update. One of my one-shots will be essentially a separate epilogue to this, that will make perfect sense (hopefully) to everyone, but will probably be a bit more meaningful for people having ploughed their way through my story, it will be called 'How it feels to fail.'

I hope you all enjoyed this, been enetrtained by it etc. And if you have reached this point, many thanks for taking the time to read it all, it is an amazing feeling to write and know that your providing entertainment for people. Special thanks go to all of my reviewers, who I now address for the last time here:

**Irresistible Malaria **- Hopefully you'll catch the special eyebrow mention here! Jareth's eyebrows – a constant source of amusement! I have managed :thank God: to get this up on time, and I hope you like it, thank you so very much for sticking with it all the way through and taking the time to review!

**Yodelladyhoo** – Nice to have a new reviewer! I hope you enjoy it all, and that you reach the finale!

Remember guys, it's not too late to review, and now that it's finished, it's when I need them, so people can let me know what they think of it overall. You'd be doing me a huge favour by giving me your opinion of this, so if you have anything to say – review!


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